


Rising From The Ashes

by FKTForever (BlueFireRedIce)



Series: FKTForever Spring FRE 2019 Raffle works [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Frerin is a snarky shit, Hurt Fíli, I can't help it, M/M, Magic, Ones, Poor Fíli, Poor Kíli, Soulmates, and try not to die along the way, fight for those you love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:06:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21604210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueFireRedIce/pseuds/FKTForever
Summary: Long ago, Mahal forged the dwarven race - swearing to always love and protect them until the end of time.But as time moved on, and his interest in his creations waned, the dwarves began to turn their backs on him; stealing from his temples and forgoing any thanks they once offered him. Furious with the disrespect, Mahal cursed the dwarves - cursed them so that some would carry a Mark, and those who were Marked were doomed to die.Time passed, and the Royal family were the only ones to be spared. Until one day, they weren't.One day, Kíli woke up and discovered he had been Marked, and Fíli realised he had to do what he could to save his brother before time ran out and he lost him forever.
Relationships: Fíli/Kíli
Series: FKTForever Spring FRE 2019 Raffle works [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654837
Comments: 82
Kudos: 53
Collections: GatheringFiKi - Spring FRE 2019





	1. Forged from Earth and Stone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Linane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linane/gifts).



**A/N: So this is a loooong, overdue prize for the wonderful Linane from the last fandom raffle exchange. Funnily enough, I did actually finish this a few months ago, but I sent her a copy of the final story to beta before I published as it was her prize and prompt, after all, and she offered a few tweaks which - after thinking on them - made me realise I had rushed writing it and put quality below the speed in which it got done.**

**So, this has been through the ringer and has had things fleshed out greatly. And, I'm pleased to say, that it's actually _finished_ as well. So there's no waiting for a ridonculously long time for me to update stories, as this is all finished. Woot! And I'll be posting a chapter every day or so to get it done. I'VE EVEN PUT A CHAPTER COUNT ON IT SO YOU KNOW! Yay me for being organised!**

**I'm in the process of writing my third and final prize as well and have been having fun writing that of a morning at the gym when I'm on the bike; there's something refreshing knowing you have 45 - 60min set aside of a morning to write and exercise! So watch this space! I'm also hoping to get a couple more of my fics finished before the years end, so don't give up on the stories just yet :D**

* * *

Long ago, when the lands were fertile and young, and the rivers and skies were abundant with life, the Valar set foot on the highest mountaintop of their new land for the first time. Their eyes were bright, filled with joy and anticipation as they surveyed the lands that sprawled as far as the eye could see, realisation setting in as to what they had discovered. 

They called the land Endor; the Middle Earth - that which resided between their home in the sky, and that of the darkness below. 

Endor was beautiful; rocky cliffs and rolling hills, lush forests and breath-taking mountains. Crystal clear lakes and ferocious seas. Snow-capped peaks and glaciers that never seemed to end. Everywhere they looked the virgin land offered them much; food, shelter, beauty – and a place for their dreams to live and grow. 

And oh, what glorious dreams they had. 

Life and laughter, beauty and happiness; creatures crafted from their own hands to live and worship them as those in the old lands had done for millennia; for Endor was to be a place of hope, of new beginnings.

But as Endor was so expansive they knew that creating life to populate their lands was a task too great for just one to try and complete, and rather than struggle with creative differences they would instead scatter to different corners of the earth; giving each other freedom to craft their own beings as they so wished.

Manwë, the King of the Valar knew they needed a central point for the kingdoms, a place where all beings could reunite under one roof. The land they stood on he named Gondor; the First Land, and after a brief deliberation amongst themselves the Valar deemed the mountain they stood on – which overlooked the entirety of the land, to be known as the Pinnacle of Endor; the Place of Gathering. 

With well wishes and a promise to regather at Gondor before returning to their own Kingdom the Valar scattered, their fingers itching and their minds buzzing at the thought of what they would create. 

Oromë journeyed north to a great forest surrounded by mountains with his beloved Vána; his mind already sculpting beings that reminded him of the trees they would soon live amongst. 

After much deliberation he crafted tall, lithe creatures of great skill, beauty and immortality as a sign of his undying love to his wife; their hair light and eyes blue just as hers were. She in turn fused them with the love and respect of forests and all living creatures as a sign of her immortal love for her husband, as well as a hint of magic so that they would always be the wisest, and strongest beings to walk the earth. 

Together they named the forest Lothlorien, and blessed it with the strength and power needed to protect and nurture all who lived within. 

To the South Námo and Vairë went, towards the only volcano that appeared to reside on Endor. They chose not to create a living race, but instead created a place for the souls of those who passed to venture to so they could receive their final judgement. 

“Where there is light, there must be darkness,” Námo told his wife as he weaved his magic. 

“And where there are souls, there must be memory to ensure they are not forgotten,” Vairë replied as she began weaving the first threads of the Tapestry of Endor. 

Sticking close to Gondor Manwë and Varda created Man; fashioned after them but with a love of horses and land and a desire to look after those who needed it. There was consideration put into giving them abilities or skills that would make them stand out like the other Valar were likely doing, but in the end they chose not too; instead allowing their creations to choose their own paths, and forge their own destinies – whatever it may be. 

They created a leader; one who would rule over their people and help guide them as needed, strengthened by the knowledge they bestowed upon him – but he, like the others, would ultimately choose the path his life would take.

All they asked of him was to make them proud.

Deep within a mountain Melkor went, slipping past Námo and Vairë in the cover of darkness to a place he called the Mountains of Shadow. He cared little for his brothers and sisters, little for their desire for peace and happiness. 

“Where there is light, there must be darkness. Where there is joy, there must be anger,” he growled, his mind already corrupted by the shadows that surrounded him as he breathed life into creatures of evil, his poor skill as a craftsman showing when they were birthed misshapen and grotesque. 

“Let them be happy, for soon my children will overrun them all.” 

To the West Yavanna went, to the rolling hills and lush pastures. Here, she could create gentle folk who wanted nothing more than to eat, laugh and love; who would tend to the lands she would bless for them, and enjoy the life they were given. In honour of her husband Aulë she infused them with the ability to talk to the earth, giving her little creatures the advantage of ensuring their pastures and their people never became sterile.

Aulë for his part journeyed to the mountains to create a race that was hardy and durable; craftsmen and miners who would work the land for what it was worth and ensuring their wares were the envy of all. He built a forge the likes of which had never been seen before, and lit a kiln with his undying flames to ensure his creatures would never be without the most important tool of all.

He sculpted his beings from clay, using the large deposits that covered the mountain his creatures would soon occupy to ensure they had a literal tie to their lands. Craftsmen and miners, tinkers and toymakers. Soldiers and scholars, chefs and bakers – he made them all to ensure the kingdom would want for nothing. But with every body he made, he was still uncertain as to how he should honour his wife.

After much thought it eventually came to him, a way to show his undying love for her. He forged what he called soul bonds; a binding of two souls that were destined and right for each other in every way. Not all would share a soul bond, for it should be a rare, special occasion as those that did receive his gift would know the joys undying, unlimited love – just as he felt for her. 

With the soul bond placed within a select few of the bodies Aulë took a step back and surveyed his creations; making minor adjustments here and there as they lay beside the kiln, waiting for the flames to bring them to life. He was happy with his work, for it had taken him many hours to get their proportions and looks right – but he wasn’t satisfied. He was a craftsman through and through, and a craftsman does not simply settle on one type of craft, no – a craftsman works to make his creations better, or takes inspiration from those around them to make them truly unique. 

He knew his creatures needed a leader, one that would shine above the rest; and this creation would be the best of them all. With the knowledge of what he wished to create in his mind he walked the nearby lands for days, looking for that special something that would separate this one from the rest; uncertain of specifically what he wanted to add until a bird of incredible beauty landed in front of him. 

A phoenix.

The birds were rare, no matter which land one visited, and to have one there in front of him in all its magnificent glory sparked an idea. With a flick of his wrist a vial appeared in his hand, and with a few softly spoken words he coaxed the phoenix to part with some tears until the vial was filled to the brim. He bowed in thanks as the bird took flight, watching it for a moment as it rose into the sky before examining the contents closely.

A phoenix was a creature of incredible power, greater than any that existed in this realm or theirs, and only secondary to the Valar themselves; which made sense considering it was also the symbol of the Gods – powerful and immortal.

The phoenix was a creature of magic and legend, and very few knew that its powers could only be found in its tears, not its blood as one might think – after all, should one desire the power of the phoenix the bird must give it willingly; and even then it is only if the bird believes the recipient to be worthy of its gift.

With his precious cargo in hand Aulë journeyed back to his forge, re-examining his crafts to ensure nothing had gone wrong with them in his time away before turning to his work station - ready to start on his greatest creation of all.

This creature, this… dwarf, he decided, would be made in his image to further show he was the leader of them all.

After beating and wetting the clay he began to sculpt; his fingers making ridges and curves – crafting sinew and muscle that left no doubt of the nobility, nor the strength this dwarf was capable of. He created a chiselled jaw and a shapely nose, plump lips and high cheekbones – the face of a true King. For the eyes he dug deep in the caverns until he found the purest sapphires the mountain had to offer; the many facets mesmerising to look at no matter which way he turned them. When he held them up, angling them so the Undying flame was reflected within and glinting brightly he knew they would be commanding when they shone with life.

He removed five locks of his own golden hair; placing one above each jewel to ensure the eyes would be framed by long, thick lashes the colour of summer hay, before placing two strands on the head and the last one on the jaw.

After a brief glance at the other dwarves waiting to be made, he nodded to himself – he’d given them varying colours for their hair; black that rivalled the colour of coal, red that was as crimson as blood, brown that was identical to freshly tilled earth and orange as warm as the setting sun. But the golden hair, never would it grace a commoner – only those of his direct lineage would be worthy of its colour.

Running his hands over the chest and arms one final time he ensured there were no visible flaws, making minor tweaks here and there before deeming them perfect. With the top half complete he worked his way down to the pelvis and legs; ensuring that the dwarf was generous in both length and girth – truly able to pleasure a lover and breed without failure before taking one final strand of hair and placing it at the base. He ensured the legs were thick and corded with muscle - built for speed as well as strength, before shaping the feet and hands in a way they would never falter, never fail.

Pleased with his creation he grabbed a bowl and ventured to a nearby stream, filling it with pure, virgin water before carrying it back to the forge and carefully placing it on the table. Next, he gathered the ingredients which would help his heir rule the kingdom.

An ember from his Undying Fire for strength and passion, a fleck of gold for kindness and generosity. A drop of ink for knowledge and wisdom and a wood shaving for bravery and even temperament.

Picking up a knife he dragged the blade across his palm, splitting the skin wide and allowing his life force to drip into the bowl before swirling the contents; ensuring they were all mixed together evenly. Finally, he unstopped the vial and poured the phoenix tears into the centre. “Whosoever bears hair of gold, will possess the power of the phoenix,” he whispered, his words infusing the liquid with his own magic and turning it to gold.

With a final swirl the contents were poured into the mouth of the golden dwarf before he placed his clay creation into the kiln, and watched with growing joy as the flames of the Valar Forge brought it to life.

When the clay had turned to flesh, and a body lay in the flames he withdrew his dwarf, settling him on a bench gently as he ran eyes and hands over the body looking for any flaws.

As expected, there were none.

In fact, the dwarf had come out better than he could have hoped. The golden hair was thick and luscious, falling to shoulder length in gentle waves. The lips were shapely and beard plump and hearty, both drawing attention to the handsome face of the new king. Most important, however, was the body; it was all sinew and muscle – nothing hidden about how dangerous and powerful this king would be.

Satisfied, he sealed his lips over the dwarf’s and breathed life into him, withdrawing and smiling in delight as stunningly blue eyes cracked open.

“Welcome, my son. You are Durin, first of your name, and the leader of all dwarves.”

The rest of the Valar chose not to create their own beings, but infuse their power with the kingdoms they felt would benefit from their abilities the most. Irmo and Estë blessed Oromë and Vána’s elves with their gifts of Dreams and Visions, Healing and Rest. Ulmo blessed Manwë and Varda’s Men with knowledge of the water and the creatures that resided there, while Tulkas, Nienna and Nessa blessed all of the Valar’s children with their gifts; a Warrior Spirit, Mercy and Celebration.

Truly, no collective race of beings could be greater than that which they’d created.

Before returning to their Kingdom the Valar stood on the mountain-top once again, overlooking their land and creations for a final time. Not only would they live in harmony with one another, but they would also honour their Creators through song, dance, prayer and offerings.

“And we shall watch over them, until the end of time.”

* * *

Time moved on, and the Races of Elves, Dwarves, Men and gentle folk grew; populating the lands and forging Kingdoms, friendships and alliances – and never were their Creators forgotten, never were the temples of the Valar bereft of the promised offerings, to thank them for their beginnings. 

Until one day, several Ages after their creation, things began to change. 

As life is wont to do, the Races soon began to fragment, and the harmony that had been nurtured by all folk – while still there to some degree – began to fade. 

Men became arrogant and domineering; believing themselves to be better than their mountain-loving neighbours and distrustful of their woodland allies. Elves, having sensed the shift in the attitude of Men became suspicious and secluded; removing themselves from the world and from the temptation of others who would seek out their skills for their own purposes. 

The Dwarves withdrew from the world at large, retreating into the mountains and shoring up their walls and focusing more on the betterment of their skills and people. The gentle folk, who had always cared more about food and laughter than politics and alliances retreated to the rolling meadows and little rivers of their home; reminding their friends that their doors would remain forever open to them should they need it while shaking their heads at the silliness of it all.

Further within their mountain did the dwarves withdraw, but like all paths that are paved with good intentions, by focusing on the betterment of themselves they began to lose sight of what was truly important; selflessness, humility and kindness – and over time many grew corrupt; becoming arrogant and greedy. 

As time flowed by, Elves and Men continued to worship their Creators – albeit in a more private, intimate way than the festivals of old – but the Dwarves looked at their Creator’s temples and snarled. They began to question the need for offerings to a God that only seemed to exist in folklore; for it was clear that if any God had existed, then he had abandoned their people long ago. 

The soil of the lands they tilled had grown weak, yielding fewer crops every season until they had to venture further afield to find food, and the rivers were no longer as abundant with sea life as they had been. The promise that Durin the First had carved into his Throne, the promise given to him by their Creator had become little more than a lie. 

_‘Your fields will be plentiful, your rivers never dry. Your coffers will be overflowing, your forge will never die.’_

In retaliation for their abandonment, the temples that were abundant with offerings of gold and gems were robbed – the wealth that had been lining the Temples of a fabled God now lined the pockets of the greedy and those wished to use it for those in need. 

Sat upon his throne in the kingdom in the sky, Mahal noticed. 

And he grew angry. 

Grew murderous. 

So he devised a plan that would remind them of one important thing... 

You do not disrespect your God. 

On the eve of Durin’s Day, the fifth and last day in a holiday whose meaning had been lost to time but the tradition of the gathering of dwarven clans and food and ale continued – a storm of incredible ferocity broke out. The giant sky-window that had been set into the roof of the Great Hall rattled and shook with the hundreds of lightning strikes that hit the mountain, the light flashing relentlessly into the room below. 

The dwarves, who had been eating and feasting raucously mere moments ago were now cowering beneath tables and benches as silt and loose stones rained down upon them, crying out about how terrifying the power of the Gods could be. 

Mahal laughed as he listened to their wailings. _Little do they know of how powerful I can be._

The storm continued to grow in strength the closer it came, each lightning strike and clap of thunder building in power until the storm’s centre was directly above them. Thunder boomed loud enough to rattle teeth and damage eardrums as it reverberated around the cavernous room, each lightning bolt struck stronger than the one before it until the dwarves could feel each time it hit in their bones; the ground literally shaking beneath their feet. So captivating was this weather tempest that when in the centre of the Hall the cause of the storm was revealed; every dwarf nearby scattered in terror. 

Mahal looked around, eyes alighting upon his creatures as they cowered and snivelled before him, and he sneered in disgust. Pathetic excuses of dwarves. Cowardice was one trait he had not created all those centuries ago, and yet here many sat before him; their honour and nobility wasted away to nothing – their worth disappearing in the face of their fat bellies and tankards.

Snarling, he turned towards the King. The dwarf was sitting in his throne, looking shaken by his presence but unwilling to hide. If he wasn’t so angry he’d have been pleased by the display of bravery; for it meant at least his line had remained uncorrupted, where the lesser dwarves had not.

But he was angry, and the bravery only made his anger grow. Storming towards the throne he ascended the steps, each footfall sparking with lightning. “You. Have. Failed,” he snarled, thunder rumbling within the Halls and from one blink to the next, he was toe to toe with his heir, glaring down at the dwarf who in turn lowered his gaze.

Good. Let him be ashamed of the state the Kingdom had fallen into. The Kingdom that had been entrusted to him by his ancestors.

He turned and looked out across the room, fury dripping from his very core as he surveyed the parasites that called themselves dwarves. “YOU HAVE _ALL_ FAILED! YOU ARE ALL DISAPPOINTMENTS TO THE VALAR. TO ME. YOU STEAL FROM _MY_ TEMPLES, YOU _DISHONOUR_ ME WITH YOUR OWN GREEDY, SELFISH EXISTENCE. NO. MORE.”

He whirled, a hand shooting out and locking around the King’s left forearm. The King cried out as his skin seared beneath his palm. When Mahal removed his hand two crossed swords were branded into his skin.

“AS PUNISHMENT FOR YOUR TREACHERY,” he continued, his voice booming and reverberating off every surface. “THE FIFTH IN EVERY LINE WILL BE BRANDED WITH THIS MARK!” he yanked the King forward, pulling him off his throne and to his knees to show them all the discolouration on the arm, to ensure none were left clueless as to its origin. “A YEAR WILL APPEAR, AND ON THE THIS VERY DAY OF THAT YEAR – THE BRANDED DWARF WILL DIE!”

The cries and gasps that echoed around the hall was music to his ears; the whimpers and horrified pleading adding fuel to the fire. “YOU HAVE STOLEN FROM MY TEMPLES, AND AS PUNISHMENT FOR WHAT WAS TAKEN YOU SHALL REPAY ME WITH YOUR LIVES!”

The dwarves scattered, screaming in terror as lightning blasted through the glass and struck down those who were too slow to move. The smell of burning hair and flesh filled the Hall, and it was with vindictive satisfaction that the last Mahal saw before returning to his Kingdom was the death of a fifth of the dwarves gathered, their loved ones sobbing over their bodies.

Let that be a lesson to them all.

True to his word, the following day the brand appeared on every dwarf who was fifth in their line. But curiously, not all carried the same year.

The branded dates varied; some dwarves only had a couple of years, others had several decades. In fact, when the scholars began recording the dates that appeared they discovered that no more than five dwarves had matching dates at any time across all the kingdoms, and if a branded dwarf died before his specified time the next dwarf to develop a brand would replace them.

Time moved on, and the first year started to rapidly approach. On the week of Durin’s Day the Kingdoms watched and waited with baited breath, tension and fear running high through their mountains as the five dwarves that had been marked to die approached their final day.

For the first four days, nothing happened – other than the families of the marked dwarves lashing out at nosy neighbours and anyone who got in their way. Then, on the fifth day, any who lived nearby to the doomed were forced to listen in horror as the branded Dwarves succumbed to fever and fits; their death’s ending on a final, bloody note where they choked on their blood, their eyes stuck open in panic and suffering.

The manner in which they died brought the leaders and High Scholars of the dwarven kingdoms together to discuss the calamity they faced; pitching ideas between them to discuss whether they could fight their God and what he had done to their people.

 _“Sire! Surely there is something we could do! You are of Durin’s line, can you not summon him here so we may beg forgiveness?!”_

_Thorin looked at the dwarf lord from the Grey Mountains and rolled his eyes. “I may be the first of my name, friend – but I am not first of my line. It has been 500 years since the creation of the dwarven race, and I fear that I, like the rest of us, may be somewhat out of touch with our God.”_

_“Then what do we do, Sire?” another dwarf growled, and Thorin looked at him, waving his hand as an invitation to continue. “Do we just sit here and turn a blind eye as our people die painful, gruesome deaths? Placate them with little more than an ‘oh well, sorry it’s you but what can you do,’ conversation?”_

_“I have another suggestion.” Everyone turned to look at the Chief Banker, who was looking rather nervous – which was rather unusual as it was a state Thorin had never seen him in before._

_“Do share,” he prompted when the dwarf seemed disinclined to continue. “It’s not like we have many alternatives.”_

_The dwarf cleared his throat, several times, before rolling his shoulders and looking at them all. “In the lead up to Durin’s Day, several of my advisors made me aware of bets that were taking place amongst the miners and labourers, regarding the manner of how the marked dwarves would die. Whilst not entirely… ethical, I believe they may be onto a solution.”_

_“What? Gambling on how quickly they’ll choke to death on their own blood?!” A scholar spluttered, scandalised._ _“Line the pockets of those who are despicable enough make games of the fate of their kinsmen?”_

 _“Not gambling on how they’ll die,” the Banker retorted, “but rather make their death’s something to gamble on.”_

_Thorin held up a hand, silencing any following comments. “I’m not sure I follow where you’re going with this,” he admitted, rubbing at his Mark subconsciously. The mark had never developed a year, and he suspected it never would – it was merely there to serve as a reminder. “You’re talking about betting needlessly on people’s lives who, quite frankly, we know are going to die.”_

_The Banker inclined his head, conceding the point. “Aye, Sire. We know they’re going to die. They know they’re going to die, and when. But why should they be forced to sit there and wait for their fate?” At the continued looks of confusion, he sighed. “Host a tournament. Those who are marked will know when their time is up – so they’ll have had plenty of time to train. Allow them the dignity of fighting to the death; allow them the chance to bring those they leave behind some honour in an otherwise dark time.”_

_“Take the glory from Mahal and restore it to our people,” Thorin muttered, rubbing a hand over his beard slowly. “Do you think it would work?”_

_“I believe it would give the dwarves a purpose to not take their own lives so early,” the Banker replied. “Make it a big event. Each Kingdom is put on a rotating roster for each year there’s a tournament to allow for the even sharing of hosting, cost and responsibility. The advantage for the hosting Kingdom is that that other villages and cities will want to pedal their wares during the lead up to the fight; so, let them. Let it be a reason for bringing extra trade and wealth to the Kingdoms. Those Marked will train for their battle for the entirety of their lives, and they will have the opportunity to die for glory. I cannot think of a more honourable death.”_

_Thorin nodded thoughtfully, and noticed his companions doing the same. Sadly, there was nothing they could do for those who Mahal had deemed to be sacrificed – but as the old dwarf said: just because they’d been chosen didn’t mean they had to sit there and accept their fate. At least this way, some good would come out of it this hellish situation. “So, we’re all agreed then? This is to be the path our people will take?”_

_Mumbled ‘ayes’ resonated through the chamber, and Thorin looked at the Scholar who was recording their meeting. “Let it be known, that I – Thorin, the First of my name, have heard the words of our people – and I shall follow their wishes. It shall be done.”_

The Royal decree was sent out across the dwarven kingdoms, and to the relief of Lords and Scholars alike it was welcomed with open arms. Those who were branded were labelled ‘the Marked’ or ‘Gladiators’ and betting pools cropped up from the moment each Gladiator’s training began.

It was with heavy, but relieved hearts that the sacrifice of their people which had at first been treated as a curse, became an event that was like nothing Middle Earth had ever seen.

* * *

Fíli slammed shut the ridiculously large book on their history and pushed it away in disgust. He glared at the tome, everything he’d read bouncing around his head in an infuriatingly loud cacophony and, deciding that it was still too close for comfort he hauled himself from his seat and began stalking the length of the library. 

But no matter how far away he walked, the words didn’t fade from his mind – if anything they grew stronger, painting vivid pictures in his head and he had to swallow the bile that was sitting in the back of his throat. 

Everything he’d just read screamed insanity. Vengeful God’s demanding blood sacrifices? Dwarves fighting to the death to avoid a vicious death filled with pain, suffering and fear for all involved? It was madness, all of it. And yet – it wasn’t just a tale, it was their history. 

It was real. 

“It’s disgusting,” he muttered, fists clenching and unclenching as he processed what he’d read. “It’s barbaric. It’s -” 

“Pointless.” 

Fíli spun around, his heartbeat kicking up a notch at the unexpected voice. He peered into the shadows at the corner of the room; the darkness thick and untouched by candlelight and fire and took a hesitant step back when a tall, older man melted out of the shadows. 

The fact that he was alone, late at night and barely past the age of thirty with limited knowledge on how to defend himself was not lost on him. 

He swallowed thickly before drawing himself to his full height. He may be young and up past his bedtime – and likely to be on the receiving end of an epic bollocking if his family realised he wasn’t asleep – but he was still of the line of Durin. 

And it counted for something. 

“Who are you?” he demanded, standing his ground as the man moved closer. “What do you want?” 

Rather than rounding the table, the man took the seat opposite the one he’d been in. “My name is Gandalf,” he replied, inclining his head in greeting. “And who might you be?” 

“Fíli.” It came out without thinking, and he winced. Uncle Thorin would have his head if he’d heard him say his name without knowing why a human stranger was in the library – at midnight no less. But then the name registered, and he frowned – trying to work out why he’d heard it before. “Gandalf... As in the wizard? The one my grandfather sent for?” 

Gandalf smiled, and nodded. “The one in the same.” 

Okay… that was strange, because - “You’re here early. They only sent for you this morning.” 

With a shrug, Gandalf dug around in his robes and eventually withdrew a pipe. “I’ve been in the area for some time as I had a feeling my help would soon be needed. Tell me, Fíli, what brings you to the library at such a late hour, when you should be sleeping?” 

He bit his lip and sat down again, watching in fascination as the wizard lit his pipe with nothing more than his finger. “That’s just it,” he admitted quietly. “I can’t sleep. Not after what happened.” 

Exhaling a mouthful of smoke heavily, Gandalf gave him a questioning look. “And what has happened, dear boy?” 

Unable to hold the wizard’s eyes, he looked away. “My brother woke this morning, complaining of a sore arm. When my parents looked, they discovered that he’s been Marked.” 

It appeared his grandfather’s missive had been vague as to why help was needed, because Gandalf looked surprised. “A member of the Royal family is one of the Marked?” the wizard muttered, as though talking to himself. “How unusual.” 

“It’s not just unusual, Gandalf, it’s unheard of. Aside from my ancestor, no dwarf of Durin’s Line has ever received the Mark. Let alone an actual date.” He hung his head, his shoulders slumping at the memory of fear that had been in his family’s eyes, and the way they avoided talking about what it meant whenever he or his brother entered the room. Their refusal to answer any questions had only served to scare him and Kíli further – which was why he was here now. 

“It’s not fair,” he whispered. “Kee is barely 25, he doesn’t deserve this.” He frowned slightly, thinking over his words before deciding they needed to be fixed to better reflect how he felt. “None of the Marked do.” 

Gandalf watched the young dwarf with interest, drumming his fingers against the table thoughtfully. “No, they do not,” he agreed. He’d spent the last few weeks wandering the nearby lands, uncertain as to his reason for being there but knowing he was unable to leave all the same. Looking at the boy in front of him, he now knew why. 

Fíli looked up, and it pained him to see the tentative hope in the boy's eyes. “Grandfather sent for you, does that... does that mean you can help my brother? Help all of them?” 

“I’m afraid not, little one. There is nothing I can do for them, because it is not within my power to do so.” As quickly as the hopeful look had come, it was snuffed out. Fíli looked utterly crestfallen, and so he set his pipe aside and reached across the table, taking the dwarfling’s hand in his own. “But it is within yours.” 

Understandably, the boy was confused. “I don’t - What do you mean?” 

Releasing the boy's hand he picked up his pipe again, tapping the tip of it against his lip. “It’s curious, is it not, that Kíli became one of the Marked, and yet, including him - there are seven of your line alive. Mahal himself said that the fifth of every line is cursed to die; so by that reasoning your mother should have been Marked.” 

Fíli frowned, but he knew it wasn’t because he disagreed. Biting the tip of his pipe to keep it in his mouth he reached across the table and grabbed the tome, turning it towards him as he opened the cover. He’d seen this book once or twice before in the past, having kept an eye on the dwarven history as recorded by scholar’s when his own eyes were unable to do so. The need to watch had always been a mystery to him, and yet he knew that staying aware of the situation was somehow important; and as of late he’d felt he was getting closer to an answer. 

He certainly had his answers now. 

Flipping through the first few pages his eyes skimmed the text until he found the section he was looking for, and with a flick of his wrist he spun it back around, giving it a push so it slid closer to the dwarfling. 

“Read this aloud, if you would,” he instructed, tapping on the line of interest. 

Fíli looked uncertain, but he obliged all the same. “‘ _This creature, this… dwarf, would be made in his image and would be the leader of them all.’_ ” The boy looked at him, his brow creased in a frown. “I don’t understand,” he admitted quietly. 

“Understandable, dear boy, for I imagine your knowledge of the Gods is limited.” Taking a deep drag of his pipe, Gandalf thought about how to explain such a complex topic to one so young. “Mahal made Durin in his image, and Gods can be... vain, to put it politely. He would never curse a dwarf who is meant to look like him with this atrocious Mark, because it would be like cursing himself. So, by that logic, due to your Uncle Frerin’s birth, and the fact he has blond hair, it made your mother only the fourth in your line who could possibly be Marked. Which means, by all accounts, you should have received the Mark when you were born.” 

“But I’m blond too,” Fíli murmured, devastated realisation crossing his face. “Kíli is Marked because of me.” 

“Indeed. Kíli has inherited what you or your mother should have, but that is through no fault of your own, little one, and you should stop thinking as such.” 

“But how can I, Gandalf?!” Fíli whispered, his voice breaking as he spoke. “If I had been dark haired like Amad and Da, this wouldn’t have happened to him. It’s my fault he’s Marked, and there’s nothing I can do to help him!” 

“That is not entirely true.” He leaned over the table to get a better look at the page. When he found what he was looking for, he pointed to it. “If you would be so kind as to read this part for me, dear boy.” 

_“‘The phoenix is a creature of incredible power, greater than any that existed in this realm or theirs, and only secondary to the_ _Valar_ _themselves; which is why it was the symbol of the Gods – powerful and immortal.’”_ Fíli looked up at the wizard. “So…” 

“The phoenix is a creature of incredible power,” he quoted. “So don’t you think it strange that for something so powerful to be gifted to your line, in all this time nothing has come of it? The power has never been seen, let alone used?” 

It was clear the question had thrown the boy off guard, because his eyes glazed over slightly as he thought. 

“Whosoever bears hair of gold, will possess the power of the phoenix,” Fíli murmured, before refocusing. “So I… what? Have power, like you?” 

He chuckled softly, smiling at the offended look he was given. “No, dear boy,” he replied. “When you learn the full extent of your gift, you will be far more powerful than I. Far more powerful than anyone who walks this earth, in fact.” 

It took a moment for his words to sink in, and when they did it was clear Fíli was visibly shaken. “B-but Uncle Frerin,” the boy whispered, “he would be the same, wouldn’t he?” 

“He would have been, once,” he agreed. “Sadly however, there was no need for your Uncle to learn of his power and so I fear that anything he’d be able to do now would be little more than party tricks.” Pushing away from the table he raised himself to his full height, aware that he may appear intimidating but this was no simple conversation. “Fíli, son of Víali. You have the ability to match power with the Valar and with the proper training, you could be the one to end this bloodshed for good. So I ask you, are you up to the task?”

Fíli looked up at the wizard, terror coursing through his veins at Gandalf’s words. He was only thirty, for Mahal’s sake! He wasn’t strong enough, or brave enough to fight a battle with the God’s!

But then the thought of Kíli’s tear filled eyes flooded his mind, his voice echoing in his ears as he begged his brother to help him, to explain what was going on as they both stared at the Mark that had sent their family into a panic and, unknowingly to them at the time, declared him to die at the tender age of seventy.

Kíli was going to die, as were so many others, unless someone did something about it.

Unless _he_ did something about it.

He pushed away from the table, his fear chased away by his determination to save his brother, and his people.

“What must I do?”


	2. A Forging of Friendships and Plans

**A/N: Greetings all! As promised, the 2nd chapter in a somewhat timely manner! The 3rd one may or may not be on time tomorrow as I have a work Christmas function, so not sure what time that'll be wrapping up. If I can't get it up tomorrow then definitely the next day!**

**I've just come back from watching Knives Out, and would highly recommend it! It's a great whodunnit movie and keeps you guessing till the end! :D And I must say, I loved Chris Evan's character in this, it's a complete 180 from his Steve Rogers role.**

**Thanks to[PeneighDzredfohl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeneighDzredfohl), [mina86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mina86), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [MissCallaLilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCallaLilly), [Froot_Luips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froot_Luips), [Fiaxfour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiaxfour), and [Silva_13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silva_13) who've commented and kudosed - you guys are awesome! I hope you enjoy this next chapter <3**

* * *

Gandalf offered Fíli a short bow, which the boy returned before closing the door to his chamber silently.

He waited until he heard Fíli shuffle further into his room, and only once he was satisfied the boy was on his way to bed did he make his way back to the library.

It had been a night filled with answers to questions that had lingered with him for many years, and while he was glad for the clarity, the enormity of the task laid out before him was still somewhat overwhelming.

_“You have your answers, then?”_

His senses roamed the corridor, checking every crack and crevasse to ensure his path was free of others. Once he was satisfied his path to the library wouldn’t be intersected by the patrolling dwarves he allowed his mind to wander past mountains and rivers into the forests of Lothlorien. “I do. And they are far greater than we imagined.” 

He gave Galadriel access to his mind so she could see what he had. _“Brave boy,”_ she mused. _“Or foolish, perhaps?”_

“Pure of heart would be a better description,” he murmured as he pushed the door open. With a quick check he was alone he made his way back to the table, reigniting several candles with a careless flick of his fingers as he passed them. 

Once he was settled into his seat he grabbed the book, re-reading the old pages and allowing the words to wash over him; focusing not on what had been written, but what hadn’t. 

_“What is it you’re looking for?”_ Galadriel asked, using their connection to see what he did. 

“The creation of this world and the origins of those that walk the earth is based on the stories the scholars of the different races told each other, back when they were on friendlier terms. But they too had to get their stories from somewhere.” 

_“From the Valar themselves.”_

“Indeed. Whilst the scholars have kept this book updated over the years, the origins of the dwarven race couldn’t have been written by any other that Mahal himself,” he replied. Turning to the front of the book Gandalf allowed Galadriel to read the first few pages, nodding when the elf queen hummed in agreement. 

_“Any that resemble him would be what he considers a pure version of himself,”_ Galadriel stated after a moment. _“Which means that he ensured the power they wield would match his own.”_

“Add the phoenix blood -” 

_“And the boy’s powers could rival even Manwë.”_ Galadriel went quiet, and Gandalf waited patiently – knowing that the queen would be using her own power to see the path this future might take. 

_“This is a big responsibility for one so young. Does he have what it takes to rise to the task before him?”_

“The boy’s power may be dormant, but it’s there; bubbling just beneath the surface while it waits to be used.” He closed the book carefully before taking a deep drag of his pipe. “Never in my life have I witnessed raw power of this magnitude, especially in one who is untrained. Should he learn to use his power to its full capacity, without guidance, I fear the danger he would pose to this world would be greater than what even Sauron accomplished.”

_“What I have seen of the boy’s future agrees. We must train him for the sake of all others.”_ A thrum of amusement washed over him as Galadriel withdrew from his mind. _“I guess we have a new student.”_

“We do indeed.”

* * *

The rest of the evening was spent in a half meditative, half slumbering state – his mind following the threads of fate as he tried to work out the best way to proceed. 

Hands on and thorough training is what Fíli required, of that he had no doubt. But the more he looked at what needed to be done the more he came to realize that his future required him to live in Erebor with his new charge – at least for a little while. 

This wasn’t an issue in itself – in fact he looked forward to having a permanent residence for the foreseeable future. No, the problem was the fact that he had to request dwellings from the King, and convincing the dwarf lord that his presence was necessary was unlikely to be an easy feat; considering how suspicious dwarves were of outsiders. 

He certainly had his work cut out for him. 

_But they are desperate_ , he mused as the first tendrils of light filtered through the window, prompting him to move from the library to the entrance hall so he could request an audience with the royal family. _Desperation often breeds willingness to cooperate in search of a solution._

Not that they knew the solution to all their woes was sitting beside them, but he would work with what he had. 

* * *

His request to speak with the king was answered quickly, and no sooner had he been taken to the throne room than Thrór and his family were filing in. 

Eyes roamed over those who had gathered, and the expressions were much what he had expected. The adults were stressed, practically trembling with nervous energy where they stood despite their efforts to hide their emotions. 

Fíli was there, as was another dark haired dwarfling that he knew to be Kíli – even without seeing the resemblance between the two brothers. 

He glanced at the boy and found Fíli watching him, and with what he hoped was a quick, reassuring smile he turned his attention to the King. 

“Greetings, King Thrór,” he said, bowing to the king who returned the gesture. “It is a pleasure to once again be in your Halls. I trust you are well?” 

“As well as the current situation can allow, I’m afraid.” Thrór’s eyes shot to his great-grandchildren, the troubled expression that crossed his face gone as soon as it arrived; quickly replaced by a hard stare. “I only sent for you yesterday. The raven and your horse must have had good winds to have brought you as quickly as they did. I was not expecting you for another week, at least.” 

_Suspicious indeed_. Smiling slightly at the dwarf’s not so subtle attempt to demand an answer he withdrew the note the raven had given him and held it aloft for them all to see. 

“I just so happened to be in Dale when the bird found me,” he replied blithely. “I was making my way North, but hadn’t felt the need to hurry – a good thing too I suppose, as I do so hate unnecessary backtracking.” 

With a brief nod from the king, Frerin walked over to him with a hand extended. He surrendered the note happily, and while the blond read it he allowed his senses to gently probe the older blond’s mind in search of his power. 

As he expected, only remnants remained; the difference between uncle and nephew was that one had been affected by time where the other had not – the years burying it too far beneath the surface to be useful anymore. 

Perhaps with training and time Frerin might have proved to be of some use, but risking the future of the world on maybe’s and small possibilities was one he refused to take. 

He withdrew from the dwarf’s mind as Frerin turned to his grandfather and nodded, verifying the authenticity of the note before rejoining his family. 

This truly was a song and dance to appease suspicious minds; if he’d thought it would help, he would have told the dwarves that he’d known for months Erebor was in need of his aid – but where Men and Elves would have been thankful for the news he suspected the dwarves would kick him out of the mountain for suggesting they were always in need of outside assistance. Instead, he decided to push them to the reason for his summoning. 

“How may I assist you, sire?” 

“Dís, bring Kíli to the wizard.” As Thrór’s granddaughter did as she was asked, the king began to explain what they needed, although it was in as few a terms as possible. Thankfully Fíli had had no issue of including as much detail as possible the night before, so he was able to skip the general examination and look into the curse further. 

He knelt before the dark haired dwarfling who was trembling with fear beside his mother, and extended his hand. 

“Greetings, little master. My name is Gandalf the Grey, and who might you be?” 

It only took a couple of moments of patient waiting before the dwarfling placed a trembling hand in his own. 

“K-Kíli,” the boy squeaked, his eyes as round as saucers. The poor thing clearly didn’t know what to make of all this, and putting him in front of a stranger certainly wasn’t helping him any. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kíli,” he replied, smiling kindly to try and put the boy at ease. Sure enough, his friendly, grandfather-like appearance helped lower tense shoulders. Turning his wrist slightly, he positioned the boy’s arm where he needed it; having extended the hand opposite to the one he could feel a binding spell wrapped around. “Your great-grandfather said you’ve found yourself in a spot of bother – may I look, so I can try and help?” 

The tension was back, and Kíli turned to his brother fearfully. It was evident the boy found little comfort in his mother’s presence beside him, so Gandalf raised his head and looked at Fíli instead. 

“Sometimes we need our big brother’s to help chase away the monsters, don’t we?” It was important the boy knew that needing help wasn’t something to be ashamed of – a lesson the house of Durin appeared to need a reminder of. “I promise I’m not a monster, but I see no reason your brother cannot join us.” 

Apparently that was all Fíli needed as permission, as he was by his brother’s side in an instant. “Greetings, mister Gandalf,” the boy said, bowing slightly. When he straightened, there was a knowing look in his eye. The boy was wise beyond his years, to understand it was best to feign unfamiliarity. “My name is Fíli.” 

“And greetings to you, master Fíli,” he replied. “Kíli is certainly lucky to have a brother as brave as you to look out for him.” 

Fíli ducked his head, pinking slightly at the compliment. “Kíli’s plenty brave,” he muttered. “Aren’t you, Kee?” 

It was obvious how much Kíli idolized his brother; the brunet looking at his sibling with so much trust and adoration as he slipped his free hand into Fíli’s before giving the tiniest of nods - putting on a brave face as he allowed his sleeve to be rolled up. 

The moment the mark was exposed, he knew there was nothing he himself could do for the boy. Despite knowing the circumstances of the mark there had been some small, whimsical hope that perhaps he could reverse the magic, or alter it in some small, beneficial way – but being a wizard, and as old as he was, meant he possessed a vast amount of knowledge and experience. 

And Gandalf knew when his powers would be bested. 

Still, he didn’t allow that knowledge to deter him. He prodded at the mark, both with his fingers and with his magic – assessing the extent of the binding curse that had been placed upon it. There was a chance that Fíli could perhaps - no. No that wasn’t going to work either. Fíli may eventually rival Mahal in strength, but the mark had been created in such a way that none but the one who made it could remove it – the mark thrumming with the creator’s signature. 

The only way to remove it was by forcing Mahal to break it, which unfortunately made Fíli’s role in this all the more dangerous. They had time though, Kíli’s date not for another seventy years. 

Small mercies. 

Huffing in disappointment he released Kíli’s arm, giving the boy’s shoulder a quick squeeze before he stood and faced the waiting adults. 

“A dilemma, you certainly face,” he told them, watching as Dís pulled her sons back to their family. “And unfortunately one I am unable to resolve at this time.” 

“That is… grave news,” Thrór muttered, his disappointment evident on his face. “But I thank you for trying, Tharkûn.” 

He inclined his head. “I would not accept defeat just yet, my lord. As I said, this is a dilemma I am unable to resolve at present – the magic that flows through this mark is ancient, older than even I. However I do believe that with time, and research, I may be able to help. With your permission I would like to remain in your Halls, until I can either resolve this, or find the path that will lead me in the right direction to a solution.” 

“Live here, amongst us?” Up until this point Thorin had been a silent shadow beside his grandfather. Now however, the suggestion of an outsider calling Erebor their home seemed to rankle him. “If you are unable to remove the mark now what would living amongst us achieve?” 

“Thorin,” Dís chastised, her voice sharp and dangerous. “Hear him out.” 

“Your brother is quite right to ask the question, Lady Dís,” he chuckled, smiling at her kindly so she knew he was not offended. “What _could_ I hope to achieve here? Well Thorin, the answer is simple. The history of your people is in your library – not in the libraries of Gondor or Rivendell. In order to understand the curse placed upon your people I must first understand everything about your people. Magic is all around us; but it is a fickle, illogical thing. Just because one recognizes a word doesn’t mean they can read a book – one must first study and learn before they can attempt such a thing.” 

He looked around them all, noting varying degrees of confusion and curiosity. “As I said, I cannot help now - but with time and knowledge, I believe I can.” 

Thrór nodded slowly. “I understand, Tharkûn. Dís, Víali – Kíli is your son. While I may not be entirely comfortable with the thought of an outsider residing in our halls for a long period of time, the decision is ultimately yours. The kingdom of Erebor will stand by your decision.” 

“There is no decision,” Dís replied after a brief glance at her husband. “You are welcome to stay here, Gandalf, as long as you deem necessary. It’s not just my son who I wish for you to save, but our people.” Here, she shot a brief, dark look at her father and grandfather. “I just wish someone had tried to remove this curse before now.” 

“Your dedication to your people is admirable, my lady. I promise I will do my best to help you.” 

* * *

After he had been granted permission to stay, accommodation was sorted quickly. There was a wing in the mountain, not far from the royal quarters that was uninhabited, reserved for dignitaries and other such visitors, as rare as they were. Thrór told him to take whichever room he wanted, believing that the solitude and quiet would benefit him whilst carrying out his research. 

The quiet he cared little for, but he was grateful for the solitude because it meant Fíli’s lessons could occur without an audience. 

With his room sorted, it was a small matter of finding his way there. No sooner than he mentioned this than Fíli offered to escort him there, the dwarfling looking at his parents with wide, hopeful eyes. 

Thorin and Víali looked less than thrilled but stayed silent for fear of appearing rude - but when Fíli begged his mother with an excited ‘Amad, he’s a _wizard!_ ’ the dwarrowdam rolled her eyes and shooed her son off with a laugh. Kíli wanted to go too, but it was evident to them all the dwarfling was on the verge of sleep – the excitement and fear of the day clearly taking its toll on him. 

“Don’t bother Gandalf with too many questions, Gimlith,” Dís reminded her eldest son as she scooped her youngest into her arms, the brunet putting up a minor fuss at not being able to accompany his brother. “Just don’t forget to bring him to lunch, okay?” 

“‘Kay mama,” Fíli replied, hurrying forward to grab the wizard’s hand and tug him away. 

Their trek to his wing was an interesting one, Fíli chattering away about anything of interest they passed. To anyone who saw them, it would appear as nothing more than a young boy caught up in the excitement of having a new friend; his youthful exuberance making him talk about whatever caught his eye. 

But he could see what Fíli was doing. 

The topics of interest were based on their history; odd facts about how the halls and chambers were created, his ancestors who had made their mark on the kingdom in one way or another. Anything the boy thought might help him when he began his research. 

Fíli’s thoughtfulness was something he appreciated, because there were a few things the boy mentioned that would give him a starting point when he began his investigations. 

* * *

They reached his wing quickly, and Fíli led him to a room at the far end. As soon as he pushed the door open, he knew it was perfect for what he needed. The room large and spacious – an excellent area to practice magic without damaging anything, and there were plenty of candles and bowls, cushions and throws; objects of varying size that would allow a new magic user the chance to test himself against a myriad of objects. 

There were two doors at the end of the room, one leading to a well-equipped but basic bathroom, and the other housed the basic necessities of a bedroom – not skint on its luxury but not drowning the guest in wealth. The main living room held what he deemed to be the most important furnishing of all; two large, comfortable looking armchairs that would be perfect for sitting in when he was studying, and napping when he wasn’t. 

“So what now?” 

He turned, abandoning his investigations and found the dwarfling seated on one of the chairs, looking tiny in comparison to the furniture that surrounded him. 

Gandalf seated himself in the other chair, flicking his wrist so Fíli’s seat turned to face him – resulting in a fit of giggles when the boy was taken by surprise. Once Fíli had settled, he began to explain in simple terms what his lessons would be focused on for the next few months, and possibly years, before he took his leave from the mountain. 

“And of course, we will have the assistance of the Lady Galadriel as well,” he finished, withdrawing his pipe from his robes. He lit it with the tip of his finger, and hid his smile when the boy splayed his own hands in front of him, frowning and poking his fingers. 

“So, you think I can do this?” Fíli asked, wriggling his fingers back and forth before looking up at him in disbelief. “You’re sure I can use magic, like you? And who’s Lady G-Galad- um…” 

“Galadriel,” Lady Galadriel herself said, walking towards them from the shadows. He chuckled as Fíli spun in his seat, alarmed, to see who had spoken. “That would be me, little one. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Fíli scrambled off his seat, and he watched as the boy hurried up to the elf, looking up at her for a long moment before tentatively poking her in the leg.

“Wow.” The breathy, awed exclamation made him laugh loudly, his amusement growing further when the dwarfling turned to look at him, eyes wide and disbelieving. “Can I do _that_?!”

“Perhaps with time, gwinig,” Galadriel replied kindly, nudging him back to the couch.

It took a little effort, Fíli gazing up at the elf in amazement and stumbling every time his feet caught on something, but eventually he was seated – facing the pair of them, his eyes filled with wonder. 

And hope.

With Fíli settled he stood, offering his seat to Galadriel who smiled before sitting down daintily and refocused her attention on the still stunned dwarfling.

“Now, little one, what you’ve seen here today could well be possible for you, just as it may not. There is a powerful magic inside you, but we must first test you to see your limits – after all, to move a mountain, one needs to start with even the smallest of pebbles for they are just as important as the boulders.”

The boy blinked owlishly, and Gandalf couldn’t help but chuckle. “We must start small,” he clarified, “and eventually what you learn will manifest and grow bigger. But yes, dear boy, you have magic within you. We just need to coax it to the surface.”

He moved to Fíli’s side and crouched down, taking the dwarfling’s hand in his own. “Your path will be long, and tiring, and not without its challenges – but I swear, when the time comes, you will not face the Valar alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gimlith – star that is young  
> gwinig - little one


	3. Like A Fledgling Learning to Fly

**A/N: Woot! New chapter! Things are starting to chug along a bit, and more Fili angst because what else would there be?**

**Shout out to[Toeinthewater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toeinthewater), [Shadowmom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowmom), [PeneighDzredfohl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeneighDzredfohl), [mina86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mina86), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [MissCallaLilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCallaLilly), [Froot_Luips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froot_Luips), [Fiaxfour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiaxfour), and [Silva_13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silva_13) as well as the 3 guests who've commented and kudosed - I'm so glad you're all enjoying this story so far, I hope this next chapter is just as enjoyable for you :)**

* * *

The silence was deafening, but not in an uncomfortable way. Rather it was familiar, peaceful even; the silence that enveloped the room meant he was so far removed from life within the mountain that he wouldn’t be disturbed by an errant wanderer.

Looking around, Fíli’s eyes skated over the dozens of candles scattered throughout the chamber; barely evident in the inky darkness that surrounded him. In fact, it would have been pitch black if it wasn’t for the lone, thin candle flickering weakly in his grasp.

The scene was a familiar one, and it took barely a thought before the wicks that were cold from disuse sprang to life, chasing away the dark and filling the room with a cheery golden glow. No longer needed, he blew out the candle he held and deposited it in its cup where it would wait for him to re-join the inhabited part of the mountain before heading for his usual spot in the centre of the room.

The memories that he had here were many; ones filled with frustration, anger, exhaustion and triumph – understandable as it was here Gandalf had held his lessons, and it was here that he continued to practise long after Gandalf had gone. At first he’d wondered about the wizard’s motives for teaching him somewhere so far removed from others – but he was quick to realise the merits in doing so; at the start of his studies he’d tried to practise in his room, but each time someone had interrupted, leaving him breathless with fear that he’d been caught.

He’d certainly come to appreciate the silence his self-imposed solitude had brought.

He sat on the moth-eaten rug, folding his legs beneath himself gracefully as he settled into position – aware that the usual time here was limited before his absence was noted and the entire Kingdom began searching for him.

And considering tensions were running high at present, it was the last thing he needed to deal with. Time truly was of the essence.

Closing his eyes he took a deep breath; allowing the incense that was beginning to permeate the room to fill his nose and smother all conscious thought before exhaling, allowing everything within his mind to evaporate from his body like smoke.

Deep breath. Release. Deep breath. Release.

On his third inhalation Fíli allowed his eyes to open slowly, keeping them unfocused so the flickering flames that surrounded him remained a soft golden glow, rather than dozens of pinpricks of sharp light. His hands, which had been resting on his knees turned so they were palm up and he allowed the first tendrils of power to warm his fingertips; flexing them slightly before releasing the energy and letting his power fill the room to lift the candles slowly into the air.

With another faint nudge the candles began drifting around the room; dancing lazily overhead as he focused on his thoughts. He sifted through them until there was some semblance of order in the flow of images before him; easier to process and deal with as a whole, rather than individually.

The years had passed by faster than he would have liked, his childhood – which should have been happy and carefree; filled with lessons, weapons training and boring chores had instead been marred by the looming presence that was Kíli’s mark, and everything it stood for.

Kíli was destined to die, but he was destined to stop it – or so Gandalf and Galadriel had said.

The faith his teachers had in him from the start had been as humbling as they had been terrifying; neither of these ancient, powerful beings had known a thing about him when they first met, and yet they believed in him. They believed he would be the one to free his people from this curse.

It was a lot to place on the shoulders of one so small, but as it meant saving his brother, it was a task he had taken to with fierce determination, refusing to back down. Refusing to fail.

Weeks into his lessons, however, he’d struggled to believe that he was the one destined to break this centuries old magic; the thought laughable when his belief in himself wavered. And it wavered often. But giving credit where it was due, Gandalf had stuck to his promise to help; and after several months of extreme frustration he finally had his first victory when a small flame appeared on his fingertip.

It was the smallest of achievements, but the fierce pride he’d felt at managing such a feat had left him giddy. Understandably, the confusion on his parents faces when he’d come back from his time with Gandalf that day grinning like a lunatic had been hard to explain.

As time moved on his powers had slowly grown, each success coming slowly but every single one of them had been hard earned – especially as he found himself constantly having to coax back to the surface the magic that had lain dormant in his line for centuries.

_To move a mountain, one needs to start with even the smallest of pebbles for they are just as important as the boulders._

Well. The smallest of pebbles had been moved, and sure enough Gandalf’s wisdom began to show merit – two years’ worth of daily lessons had him lighting a candle with the faintest of thoughts or lighting a large fire with little more than a look and flick of his fingers.

Incredible achievements though they were, none were ones he could share aloud – Gandalf and Galadriel making it clear from day one that if anyone found out about what he could do their plan would dead in the water before it even began.

Dwarves may have been known to be just as bad as humans for their gossip.

Not only would he never have a moment of peace; what with dwarves constantly harassing him to fix their problems or give advice, but the chances of the Valar realising one of their creations was preparing to challenge them was unbelievably high. Having that happen, well before they were ready meant certain doom – and quite possibly a worse curse than what they were already experiencing.

It was with that sobering reminder in the back of his head that Fíli had ensured that if he used his powers around others, it was always hidden – only ever using them when whatever he did could be explained away by real actions.

As such, his ability to coax life into fires, even when it rained, had made him popular with his fellow soldiers.

Following the path of his thoughts, his mind drifted over the memories of his weapons training; decades of sweat, blood and more than a few tears serving to remind him of the dedication he’d given to his craft amongst his royal training, and his tutelage under Gandalf.

It stood to reason then, that where his training had been intense, Kíli’s had been relentless.

The brunet, when he learned what his mark stood for had thrown himself into his weapons training the moment he was old enough; telling his family that if his life was already forfeit then he’d make sure he was the best soldier and hunter the kingdom had, for the time that they had him.

It was an argument that he was always going to win, no matter how much it pained them to admit it.

Because at the end of the day, when one looked at the cold hard truth of the matter, Kíli was going to die. He would never live long enough to forge long term relationships with their allies that would benefit the kingdom, he was never going to be around to run the risk of outliving his entire family and having to rule in their stead.

In the eyes of the kingdom, Kíli wasn’t important.

The thought of the disregard his brother faced on a daily basis by those who believed they knew better made his heart hurt. Kíli was loyal to a fault; his dedication to keeping their people happy, fed and safe in even the harshest of winters had always made his brother shine above the rest.

But Kíli had always shone like the brightest of flames. At least to him.

And like a moth, he was drawn in.

Because whenever Kíli trained, with either bow or sword – he was a sight to behold. His focus was like a hawk’s, never wavering from his goal - his accuracy always on point and deadly. His fingers danced over the string of his bow, caressing the feathers as they brushed his cheek moments before he let them fly.

And in summer, when his skin had been kissed by the sun and the heat, sweat dripping and rolling over the outline of his chest – 

The dull thud of the candles hitting the floor jolted him violently from his thoughts. 

“Shit,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. He was grateful he was alone, because he could feel the heat on his cheeks, especially with the picture of Kíli’s toned torso still lingering in his mind. 

He stood, shaking the stiffness from his limbs as he wandered around the room, righting the candles that had fallen onto their sides by hand and scolding himself for his inability to control himself as he did so. 

His emotions controlled his powers. That’s what Gandalf had told him; and yet, as always, he struggled with keeping himself in check. For most situations he could remain relatively calm; which in turn meant his powers were there and accessible, if somewhat muted. But as skilled as he was at remaining level-headed he was also someone who loathed the thought of shying away from his emotions in general; preferring to show the world how he felt rather than hiding it away like all the older dwarves seemed to do.

Unfortunately, it meant that his willingness to remain true to himself often worked in counterpoint to the control he tried to keep on his emotions; so beyond any basic tricks it caused issues whenever he tried to do something more complex. Except when his thoughts drifted towards Kíli. 

Whenever that happened, he stood no hope in controlling either. 

Because Kíli wasn’t just his wild raven of a brother, his partner in crime and in arms – Kíli was his lover; and the one who owned his heart, body and soul. The bond they shared meant that whenever his mind wandered into not so brotherly territory when thinking of the brunet, his control on his emotions shattered. 

It was embarrassing how often it happened. 

The thought of Kíli made him pause and swallow hard. He could never identify what made him realise he loved Kíli as more than a brother – in fact he had come to the realisation that it was likely always there, but when Kíli had taken the proverbial bull by the horns and pinned him against the wall in their chambers after problematic hunting trip, growling about how he was sick of dancing around the edges before trying to suck the air from his lungs – he’d decided that he wasn’t going to argue with the turn of events and was happily dragged along for the ride. 

It had been that way for several decades; their love for each other overcoming the toughest of hurdles as though they were nothing more than mere bumps in the road on their way to happiness. 

But that road had reached an impenetrable, unclimbable mountain; in just over a day he was going to lose Kíli forever.

Because time had moved on, faster than he’d been ready for – and before he knew it, the year on Kíli’s mark had arrived. Even if he’d tried to deny it, the Kingdom was already experiencing an influx of visitors who were eager for the food, drink and main event.

That, and the fact his mother and father would break down unexpectedly. Even Thorin and Frerin had been spotted with tears in their eyes in Kíli’s final weeks. 

It pained him to see his family so broken and not be able to say anything. Because quite frankly, he didn’t even know if he’d be able to pull off what Gandalf had said was possible; and he didn’t want to give anyone false hope. He’d learned everything he could from the wizard, as well as the Lady Galadriel; and in the last few years he’d practised until he dropped from exhaustion, trying to ensure he’d left nothing unexplored. But he didn’t feel prepared.

There was a very good chance he was going to fail tomorrow.

His eyes were suddenly stinging, and Fíli pressed a hand against them as he tried to stop the flood that was threatening to break free. It wasn’t fair. Kíli didn’t deserve this; he deserved to run wild and free, cause havoc where possible and offer his generosity and kindness where needed. 

He didn’t deserve to be encased in stone, his body slowly rotting in a tomb – becoming nothing more than bones and a distant memory. 

He deserved to live.

“Oh Gods,” he sobbed, falling to his knees and burying his face in his hands. The thought of what he stood to lose was suddenly too much. “Oh Kíli...” the tears were free flowing now, his body shaking with the strength of his grief which showed no sign of abating any time soon.

“Fíli.”

A soft keen left his throat as Gandalf joined him, kneeling beside him and placing a hand on his back. He barely managed to think about why Gandalf was here, or how he knew where he’d be, before he registered a third presence in the room.

“Peace, gwinig.” So, Galadriel had made the journey to Erebor after all. He’d wondered why Gandalf wasn’t at the feast last night, and now he knew. “Do not give up on yourself just yet.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he admitted, his voice wavering horrendously while he tried desperately to draw on the comfort his two teachers gave him. “I’m not ready.”

A finger was placed under his chin, and through his tears Fíli found himself looking into Galadriel’s eyes – dimly aware of the kindness and understanding that was held within them.

"You can,” she whispered, stroking his cheek lightly with her thumb. “And you are. Believe in yourself, Fíli. You are capable of so much more than you realise – you just have to open your eyes to see it.”

“I can’t do half of what you think I can.”

“You can,” Gandalf replied, and he turned his head so that he was focused on his mentor and friend. There was no sign of deception or doubt in the wizard’s face, either. It appeared they both had more faith in him than he did himself. They always had. “When the time comes, you will understand what true power feels like.” The wizard withdrew a handkerchief and handed it over, which Fíli accepted gratefully.

“It’s time to dry your eyes, for we have much to discuss, and so little time.”

* * *

Fíli made his way back to the Royal Chambers, his head spinning with the conversation that had just taken place.

Gandalf and Galadriel had been monitoring the situation with the Valar since the start of the year, to see if the looming date of the festival had even registered with the God who had cursed them in the first place.

As expected, Mahal was aware. And Mahal was excited.

The news had terrified him, but Gandalf had rushed to assure him that having the Valar’s attention on Erebor was a good thing; because it meant that when it came time for his challenge, there was no doubt it would be heard.

Which, when he thought about it, made sense. After all, challenging a God who had forgotten about the torment he was inflicting upon his people would only serve to make reversing it difficult. Not to mention awkward. So they were lucky that wasn’t the case.

It still didn’t make him feel any better.

It also didn’t help that they kept referring to the power he had as some great force; because all he’d been capable of so far were a few party tricks – and he’d certainly not experienced the overwhelming sensation they were referring too, either.

But they were confident in his abilities, so he figured it must count for something if two incredibly powerful individuals held as much faith in him as they did. He just hoped their faith wasn’t horrendously misplaced.

Shaking his head, he released his thoughts to the wind and slipped through the door to the Royal quarters – high tailing it to his room before anyone caught sight of him. Thorin’s control on his movements had become somewhat tight in recent months, and he didn’t need anyone tattling to his uncle that he’d been skulking around the corridors looking like he’d been up to no good.

Thankfully, his trek was without interruption so he made it back to his room quickly; shutting the door behind him and shedding his coat onto a nearby armchair. He looked to the roof, up through the glass window to where the sun hung high in the sky and realised Kíli would be back at any moment – the brunet currently at the meeting all Gladiator’s had to attend the day before their tournament.

The meeting which would ensure they had their final weapons check, instructions on the formalities of the battle and most importantly of all – to ensure they had all their affairs in order.

Like the Marked were idiots who might not think of how their deaths would affect their families.

“Stupid tournament,” he muttered, heading towards his chest and using more force than necessary to open it and check on the parcel that been delivered the day before. “Stupid curse, stupid tradition, stupid -”

“Fíli?”

He meeped, spinning around to see Kíli resting against the doorway of the bathroom, his arms folded and naked except for the towel wrapped around his waist. “Kee,” he gasped, pressing a hand against his heart as he willed it to calm down. “Durin’s balls, you gave me a fright.”

Kíli sniggered, pushing off the frame and walking towards him. He extended a hand, which Fíli took without hesitation. “I can see that.” The brunet pulled him close, and pressed a kiss to his brow when he was flush against him. “You getting lost in that head of yours again?”

“Mm, nope,” he disagreed, leaning into his brother when he wrapped his arms around him, breathing in the smell of fresh pine. The brat had used his shampoo again. “I’m still here.”

“Good.” Despite the cheerful tone, Kíli’s expression was sad; the corners of his eyes pinched as he looked down at him. “I want you here, with me, not a million miles away. Not on my last night.”

He knew the smile on his face was just as despondent, and they did nothing for a moment but stand there and hold each other, blue eyes locked with brown.

It was moments like this, when it was just the two of them surrounded by the comfort of their home, wrapped in each other that Fíli cherished, more than anything else. There was no rush to be anywhere, no expectations on their shoulders, no one to please. They could just be Fíli and Kíli. They could be brothers.

They could be lovers.

“Please don’t fight tomorrow,” he whispered, his fingers twitching slightly where they rested on Kíli’s back. “Please don’t go out there.” And then, throwing all caution to the wind because really – what harm could it do at this point? He was already set to lose the most important person in his life; the truth couldn’t hurt him now. “I can stop this. All of this. But I need you to not fight.”

Kíli removed one of his hands from where it was resting on his waist, and instead cupped his face. “I wish that were true, Fee,” he murmured. “Gods, do I wish it were true.”

“I can,” he insisted, turning into the palm on his jaw. “You just have to trust me.”

“I’ve trusted you since the moment I laid eyes on you.” Kíli’s thumb grazed over his lips, his eyes following the path hungrily. “But my fate is what it is. When I set foot in that arena, you are going to be the only thing on my mind. No matter what happens, I want you to know that you are the only one I have ever loved, and I will die fighting for you. It will always be you.”

Before he could even protest, explain just why Kíli didn’t need to fight he found his lips claimed; the brunet kissing him slowly, almost reverently. It never strayed beyond that, the mood not right for the fiery passion that generally followed, but it was strong enough that Fíli felt all his nerves light up, his body tingling as though on fire.

A knock at the door pulled them apart, and they turned their heads as it was opened to reveal Dwalin. The bald warrior looked at them but said nothing about the slightly swollen lips they were both undoubtedly sporting.

“Yer mother has summoned yer fer dinner,” he told them, his voice as sombre as his expression. “Food will be served in ten.”

“Thank you, Dwalin,” Kíli replied, inclining his head as the bald warrior withdrew and shut the door behind him. Kíli turned back, a finger to his cheek making Fíli turn also and a feather light kiss was placed on his forehead. “Give me a minute to get changed, and we’ll head over.”

He nodded, trying to ignore the cold that washed over him as Kíli moved away. Taking a silent, steadying breath he went to the mirror to check he was presentable, and satisfied with what he saw he went and waited by the door; desperately trying to ignore the silence that lingered and the thought of how permanent it would become if he screwed up tomorrow.

_‘If there is any reason to believe in myself, this is it,’_ he thought angrily, eyes tracking his brother’s every move. _‘I will_ not _lose him tomorrow.’_

He couldn’t.


	4. The Last Night In Your Arms

**A/N:Another chapter for you lovely people! Rating has gone up to explicit - but that's literally only for this chapter. To be honest it would have been at explicit from the start if I'd remembered to do that, but better late than never!**

**Shout out to[Bubbles759](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubbles759), [inkling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkling), [Blueskydancers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueskydancers), [Toeinthewater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toeinthewater), [Shadowmom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowmom), [PeneighDzredfohl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeneighDzredfohl), [mina86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mina86), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [MissCallaLilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCallaLilly), [Froot_Luips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froot_Luips), [Fiaxfour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiaxfour), and [Silva_13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silva_13) as well as the 4 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!**

* * *

So lost in thought, Galadriel didn’t notice when the door to the dining hall opened, nor when the two youngest of the royal family entered.

Visions of the past, present and future in all its various threads flit through her mind like birds darting through the sky. There was no single strand she could follow without her mind wandering to another thread of ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’ - too many variables surrounded the tournament that was to take place tomorrow, and despite all the effort she, Fíli and Gandalf had put in, the outcome was still uncertain.

**_“One boy holds himself the way one does when they’re not sure of themselves. The other holds himself like he’s resigned to his fate.”_ **

She blinked, the soft voice in her ear drawing her back to the here and now in time to see Kíli embrace his mother, who was crying silently, while Fíli spoke with Thorin at the head of the table. Grief permeated the room, turning the air thick and acrid. It was unpleasant, but easy to ignore by one as old as she.

_“Understandable, given the situation,”_ she thought back, eyes tracking Kíli’s progress as he spoke with each of his family members. _“As far as Kíli is_ _concerned, this is his last night with his family – it would appear nothing has been said for him to believe otherwise.”_

**_“A good thing, too. Mahal is watching the combatants closely as he usually does – so if either of them were aware of our plan I fear Mahal would have dealt with it already.”_ **

_“You’re certain he suspects nothing?”_

**_“He’s currently chortling away at the grief the gladiators and their families are experiencing, it resonates loudly within the Halls. So yes, I’m certain he suspects nothing.”_ **

The disgust at Mahal’s amusement was clear, and even she wasn’t afraid to admit how distasteful such an action was. Mahal had indeed lost his way over the years, which was a pity really – having read Vairë’s tapestry for herself, Galadriel had always struggled to understand just what had gone wrong with the Valar who had once taken such pride in his creations.

It was almost as if he was a different person entirely.

She watched as the two boys made their way around the room, and smiled softly when Fíli came to stand beside her, taking her hand from where it rested on the table beside her goblet and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

“My Lady,” Fíli greeted quietly, giving her a sad smile.

Galadriel turned her hand so that she was holding Fíli’s and gave it a soft squeeze. “All will be well, gwinig,” she murmured back. “You need to have faith – we are with you.”

The slight narrowing of his eyes was all Galadriel needed to know that he’d sensed the third hand squeezing his, and despite the fact Mithrandir sat beside her it wasn’t him – the wizard busy lighting his pipe and talking quietly with the white haired dwarf beside him.

Fíli moved on, and Galadriel turned her head slightly so she could watch him from the corner of her eye.

**_“He is definitely a powerful one if he sensed me. Perhaps there is hope after all.”_ **

_“Indeed he is powerful, as both Mithrandir and I have attested many times over the years. You doubted our ability to teach him?”_ She asked curiously, interested to know the answer.

**_“Not your ability to teach him, no. I did however, doubt his ability to learn. What you have asked of him… it is a lot of responsibility to place on the shoulders of one so small.”_ **

_“And yet it is evident he is the only one strong enough to do this. His shoulders, like his spirit, are sturdier than the mountain – he will do what needs to be done, for the cost of failure is too high a price to pay.”_

**_“They are lovers, yes?”_ **

_“Soulmates,”_ she corrected after a moment. _“Not that they know it.”_

There was silence for a second, before a soft huff of amazement. **_“So they are. It is rare in their kind – but surely they would know…? Of course not.”_** The burst of anger faded as quickly as it had appeared. **_“It’s hard to know what you have when something else takes its place. When all this nonsense has ended, that will be the first thing I fix.”_**

_“I’m sure they’ll be glad to hear it. A bit of good news in these trying times.”_

**_“Agreed.”_** They were both silent for a time, lost in their own thoughts before a scrape of a chair had them both looking up and they watched as the two boys departed almost as quickly as they’d appeared.

Galadriel looked around. More time must have passed than she’d thought, but no – the food on the plates had barely been touched.

It looked like this final dinner had been a bit more than the boys’ could bare.

**_“Are you certain he can do this?”_ **

_“I have seen several outcomes of this fight, there is no denying that, and much of it has to do with certain dwarves doing what they’re supposed to.”_ Her eyes focused on Kíli’s retreating back. The brunet was going to be more of a decider in the final outcome than he would realise when the time came. _“Fíli has the ability, and the capability to do what’s necessary – but whether he’s given the chance is another matter entirely.”_

* * *

Fíli shut the door to their chambers silently before he leaned against it, tilting his head to the ceiling and closing his eyes as he tried to shrug off the wave of grief that had followed them from the dining hall.

The mood in the hall had been unbearably sombre, and after making the rounds of their families they’d taken their seats – hoping that their meal would have some semblance of normality attached to it. Unfortunately, it was evident that Kíli’s presence was doing their elders more harm than good; his parents, uncles’ and – when they were aware enough to realise what was happening – his grandfather and great-grandfather all tearing up whenever they looked at the brunet.

Staying would have done their family more harm than good in the long run, so after a look from Kíli that begged for freedom, they’d made their excuses to leave.

He’d been very aware of the pointed look Gandalf had given him as he pushed his chair back, and had acknowledged it with a minute nod before they pushed through the doors.

“Well that was the most uncomfortable dinner I’ve ever been to.”

He blinked and looked over at Kíli who had dropped into one of the armchairs to remove his boots, his fingers deftly undoing his laces. “Honestly, you’d have thought someone had already died already.”

With a soft snort he pushed off from the door and crossed the room, stripping out of his coat and dumping it on the back of the other armchair before flopping into it to remove his own boots. “The most depressing dinner, maybe. But the dinner with Dain when we were bairns was the most uncomfortable, trust me.”

Kíli blanched for a moment, his fingers halting their task as the memory washed over him. “How in Mahal’s name did I forget that?”

“I don’t know, but the fact that he sat there with a half singed beard and one missing eyebrow, glaring at the pair of us while he talked to Thorin like nothing had happened is probably one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever experienced.” He smiled fondly at the memory, remembering his awe at the control Dain had on his temper, despite the irritation the older dwarf was portraying in waves, before realising the look on Thorin’s face was a cross between irritation, exasperation and ‘someone will pay for this’. That expression had haunted their dreams for years.

The fact that their little prank had always been intended for their mischievous cousin – who had been dawdling behind to chat up the lasses - had made the whole debacle ten times worse.

It was Kíli’s turn to snort, and Fíli watched as his brother smiled when he recalled the incident. “I must admit that Dain’s control was truly impressive, and I’m pretty certain cousin Thorin started a ballad in the Iron Hills that lauded his father’s skill.” Thorin had, and it had been so ridiculous that it had stuck. Much to Dain’s chagrin, it had been brought up at every one of his nameday’s since. “I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been that terrified in my life,” Kíli snickered, and the smile that Fíli felt form on his lips faded rapidly when Kíli paused, his smile falling as he swallowed heavily. “At least, that _had_ been the most terrifying moment of my life.”

Fíli bit his lip and focused on his own boot, inhaling slowly through his nose and trying to hide the fact that his eyes had suddenly begun to sting.

That was the crux of this whole blasted situation though, wasn’t it? If he failed tomorrow, every happy memory he had would forever be tainted by the gaping hole his brother’s presence left. Eighty years of memories that had once been filled with happiness would forever be shrouded in sorrow.

It just wasn’t fair.

A hand on his shoulder made him lean into the contact, but he didn’t look up. He couldn’t.

The decision was taken from him. A finger curled under his chin and tilted his head up so he was looking Kíli in the eye. “M’sorry Fee,” the brunet whispered from where he was now crouched beside him. “I didn’t mean to spoil that memory for you. I should have kept that to myself.”

“’s okay,” he replied, his voice as weak as his smile. “It’s only the truth.” People always said lying would always cause more pain in the end, that being truthful was the best thing for everyone; but here and now he knew for sure – that sometimes the truth caused the greatest agony of all.

“Let’s go to bed,” he continued, yanking his boot off and putting it off to the side. He stood and looked down at himself, growling silently as his clothes began to feel too constricting; the starched linens of his outerwear made him feel claustrophobic, and so he quickly stripped them off until he was in his under tunics.

A quick glance at Kíli – who was looking rather bemused as he watched him – had him remove his shirt entirely. He looked at Kíli pointedly, and with a sigh the brunet stripped until he too was just in his pants. Once he was satisfied with their state of dress Fíli took his brother’s hand and led him to their bed, the brunet staying silent as he followed closely.

It took little effort to arrange themselves comfortably; Fíli in the centre of the bed on his back with Kíli curled up beside him, one arm slung over his waist while Fíli ran his hand through his brother’s hair.

By no means was this their preferred sleeping position – Kíli much preferred being the big spoon whenever they went to bed – but tonight… tonight they needed to hold each other, be as close to one another as they could be.

Nothing was said between them for a long time. They were both content to just lie there and bask in the presence of the other – the only sound in the room the occasional pop of wood in the fire a maid had lit whilst they’d been out. It was enough, Fíli thought, but a long, soft sigh from his brother before the brunet shifted made him realise that perhaps Kíli wasn’t as accepting of the silence as he’d been.

“Fee?”

He hummed softly in reply, tilting his head slightly so he could look at his brother better without breaking his contact with Kíli’s hair.

Kíli, for his part, placed a feather light kiss to his chest before gazing up at him, and Fíli couldn’t help but wonder at the hesitant look in his brother’s eyes. “Fíli, before I fight tomorrow there’s - there’s something I need you to know.”

“Oooookayyy,” he said slowly, his brow furrowing slightly as Kíli opened his mouth again, but paused. “Kee, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Kíli said quickly, his hand curling around his waist tightly. “It’s just, I wanted you to know, before I fight – Fee I’m not sure I’ve ever said it before, but I wanted you to know that this? Us? Is something I have never regretted, you’ve always been it for me.”

Fíli blinked. Frowned, then blinked again. _Huh?_ What had made Kíli think that Fíli had ever doubted what they meant to each other?

“I know you, Fíli,” Kíli continued quietly, seeing his brother’s confusion. “I know that after tomorrow you’re going to grieve and rage and wallow – you’re going to blame yourself for something you have no control over. I know you’ll do this because it’s what I’d do if our situations were reversed – and then in your rage you’ll start questioning us; questioning what we had and whether it was something I actually wanted.”

Here, Kíli pushed up on his arm only to lean down over him. “I _need_ you to know that you were it for me. You always were and you always will be. I knew it before I even understood what love meant, but it wasn’t until a few weeks before I declared my intentions that I understood what I was feeling was okay to want – and more importantly okay to _have_.”

There was so much to unpack in that declaration, but Fíli was having a hard time focusing on it all. Instead, he went for the question that seemed to be the most important right then. “So what made you understand?”

“Like I said, I’d known for years that you were it for me, that I’d want no other,” Kíli replied, shifting so that he was now straddling his waist to maintain the physical contact while he talked. “But because of my Mark I was too afraid of saying anything because the thought of breaking your heart when it was my turn in the arena made me want to curl up and die. But then I met another Marked, and saw that he had a wife and children – and I asked him how he did it; how he could marry someone, knowing he was only going to hurt them later on. 

“He took me to the pub and bought me a drink, and he sat me down before telling me something I’d - well, I’d never considered until then. He said, ‘I could walk out the door tomorrow and be run down by a horse. Or I could be struck down by illness, or an orc, or any number of things. Just because I’m Marked, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t get to live my life the way I want it, because some jackass of a God thinks he gets a say in what happens to me. My wife and children all know I’m Marked and what it means, and we all know to cherish the time we have with each other. Yes, they’ll mourn when I’m gone – but they’ll learn to move on and think only on the good times we had together, and when they too return to the stone, I’ll be waiting for them.’” 

A gentle swipe of Kíli’s thumb under his eye was the only indication he was crying, and he would have been embarrassed if it wasn’t for the fact Kíli’s eyes were wet also. 

“The...um,” he cleared his throat, trying to get past the emotion that was trying to choke him. “The dwarf you spoke to, what happened to him?” 

“He’s still alive,” Kíli replied, smiling at him sadly. “He’s Marked for the next tournament.” 

_Another reason to bring an end to this,_ he thought. _If only to thank dwarf who brought them together._

“Our talk was... eye opening, that’s for sure,” Kíli continued. “For weeks after, it was all I could think about. Eventually, I decided that he was right – I had nothing to lose, and I shouldn’t do nothing with my life just because I was Marked. It’s important to me, that you know,” the brunet whispered. “I don’t want you to look back on our time together, wondering if what we had was real – because it is.”

He nodded, swallowing thickly as he did so. Kíli’s thumb stroked over his cheek, and he leaned into the touch; trying to commit the feeling to his memory like he had done so many times before.

“I will always love you,” Kíli continued, his voice soft as he leaned down; their faces mere inches apart. “You will always be a part of me, as I will be a part of you. You are the only the one I will think of when I enter that arena tomorrow, and when I return to the Stone, it will be your name on my lips as I leave this world.” The brunet dragged his lips lightly over his temples, and Fíli squeezed his eyes shut as he felt his grief well up, teetering on the edge and threatening to escape.

“I will wait for you in the Halls of our Forefathers, and when you join me, we will return to the world with the new dawn.”

Finally, _finally_ , Kíli’s lips found his, and Fíli poured as much passion and love as he could into their kiss, desperately trying to ignore the tears he could feel leaking from the corners of his eyes.

He couldn’t handle Kíli’s goodbye just then, didn’t want to hear it because of how true it could be. But he also didn’t want to take away his brother’s chance of saying a private goodbye one last time in the safety of their room. So he allowed himself to be kissed fiercely, passionately; allowed Kíli’s attention to drag him away from reality and to somewhere where in this moment… it was just them.

Fíli sighed as lips trailed over his neck and chest, moaned when bruises were sucked into the skin as his brother moved further down. Kíli laved attention on his nipples, first one, then the other; ensured both were peaked and sensitive before he placed a hand on Fíli’s hip and nudged him onto his front to trail kisses down his spine; his hands sliding gently over the dark lines that dissected his skin and down his sides as though he was trying to commit it to memory. 

As his lips trailed lower, so too did his hands, and Fíli found himself moaning softly as Kíli dedicated his attention to his scar before parting his cheeks and blowing softly. The first broad stroke of Kíli’s tongue against him made him gasp, and he dissolved into a whimpering mess as Kíli worked him open with his tongue and fingers; lavishing his hole with so much attention that Fíli struggled to focus on anything beyond the incredible feeling of Kíli’s tongue on his rim. 

He rutted against the bed, his brain stuttering over the mix of sensations and he was so distracted that he barely registered when Kíli pulled away – although he did notice when he was flipped onto his back, and his attention narrowed to where Kíli’s cock - which was hard, throbbing and coated with oil - as it slowly, oh so slowly, pushed into him. 

They both groaned as Kíli bottomed out, the brunet panting slightly while Fíli moaned at the how full he felt. Locking eyes, Kíli secured his legs higher around his waist, and Fíli reached out – taking one of his brother’s hands as the brunet began to move. 

Not a word was said, and nothing louder than a soft moan echoed around the room as they moved as one; starting off slow before they built gradually built up speed – and not once did their eyes break away from the other. 

Everything they wanted to say, everything they felt, they poured into the look they shared – and when Kíli pulled him up so he was straddling his lap the kisses they shared were filled with a burning passion, trying to convey every emotion, every thought. 

_I love you_

_Please don’t do this_

_I will always be with you_

_Don’t leave me_

_It was always you_

_I will save you_

_I love you_

_I love you_

* * *

They made love three times that night; and each time nothing was said – the pair choosing to express themselves through touch rather than words. 

After all, they had been together their whole lives – they no longer needed words to communicate with the other. 

Despite offering, Kíli had chosen to stick with topping for the evening – murmuring in his ear that not being able to walk in the morning was going to be counter-productive to his ability to fight in the morning, and so, nearing midnight and wrapped around each other they drifted off to sleep; not even an inch of space left between them for what would be their final night in each other’s arms. 


	5. The Worst Kind of Betrayal

**A/N: Another chapter for you lovely people, and the plot thickens! Let me know what you think! :D**

**Shout out to[KiliLover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiliLover), [Bubbles759](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubbles759), [inkling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkling), [Blueskydancers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueskydancers), [Toeinthewater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toeinthewater), [Shadowmom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowmom), [PeneighDzredfohl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeneighDzredfohl), [mina86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mina86), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [MissCallaLilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCallaLilly), [Froot_Luips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froot_Luips), [Fiaxfour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiaxfour), and [Silva_13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silva_13) as well as the 5 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!**

* * *

_…This very day of that year – the branded dwarf will die…_

**_Fíli, listen to me_ **

_…Whosoever bears hair of gold, will possess the power of the phoenix…_

_…Kíli is Marked because of me…_

_Nerves tingling_

_…What must I do..._

_…This is to be the path our people will take…_

**_Enough is enough_ **

_…To move a mountain…_

_… you will not face the Valar alone…_

_Veins on fire_

_…one needs to start with even the smallest of pebbles…_

_… more powerful than you know…_

**_It’s time to teach him a lesson_ **

_…I’ve trusted you since the moment I laid eyes on you…_

_…you will understand what true power feels like…_

_Fingertips aching and pulsing_

_What is happening_?

**_It’s time to become who you were born to be_ **

_…for they are just as important as the boulders…_

The voices in his ears built to a noisy crescendo before stopping abruptly when Fíli’s eyes cracked open, the sound of a bird’s cry fading in his ears. 

There was a heavy, warm weight across his back, and with sluggish movements he turned enough so that he could see who was plastered against him like an oversized ember from the fire. 

Kíli. 

The brunet was right up against him, and Fíli couldn’t help but smile fondly at the messy brown hair and the faint snores that resonated from his brother. He stretched, smiling at the ache in his lower back and the slightly sticky and crusty feeling between his legs. 

As he contemplated waking his brother for another round, the memory of what had woken him hit him full force. 

Eyes widening, he sat up in a rush – barely noticing as he dislodged a previously sleeping, now yelping Kíli from his back. 

Today was the day he went to war with the God’s. 

Today was the day he saved his people. 

Today was the day he saved Kíli. 

He couldn’t remember much of his dream, other than that he’d felt surrounded by noise. There had also been the occasional glimpse of hair as black as charcoal and eyes as green as the purest emeralds – but he had no idea why. 

“Mahal, Fee. Give a dwarf some warning, would you?” 

He turned and found Kíli in a bedraggled heap on the bed from his violent awakening, grumbling as he rubbed his eyes. As an apology he grabbed Kíli by the back of the neck and pulled him in for a bruising kiss, trying to pour everything he could into it. 

Kíli was not dying today. Not while he still drew breath. 

“I love you,” he murmured as their lips slid against one another. 

Or rather, that’s what he tried to say. As his mouth was otherwise occupied the words came out more like ‘uhubu’ than intended. 

Kíli drew back slightly, smirking. “Uhubu too, Fee.” 

“Shut up.” 

His brother opened his mouth to respond when he glanced up, and Fíli watched the sad realisation cross Kíli’s face when he realised what time it was. 

The first tendrils of dawn was just beginning to creep in through their window, heralding the new day and his death. 

_Supposed death_ , he corrected angrily. 

“I... um, I suppose I should get ready,” Kíli whispered, valiantly trying to squash the terror that he was clearly beginning to feel. “I’m supposed to have breakfast with Amad and Da before heading to the Halls for the Final Blessings.” 

Instead of responding, Fíli hauled his brother in for another kiss, this one messy and filled with a desperation he didn’t think he could put into words. 

Kíli was the first to pull away, but he only went so far as to press their foreheads together, his hands framing his face as brown eyes stared down into blue. 

“I will wait for you in the Halls of our Forefathers,” Kíli whispered tearfully, and Fíli had to fight to ignore the way his brother’s voice broke and trembled as he talked. “But don’t you dare join me before you’re old and wrinkled. I want to hear stories of your life, of your children – and I can’t do that if you’re an idiot who throws away his life out of grief.” When he didn’t respond straight away, Kíli tightened his grip. “Promise me, Fee.” 

Ignoring the tears he could feel pouring down his cheeks, he nodded. “I promise.” 

Kíli pressed one last deep kiss to his lips before pulling away with a gasp, and Fíli watched as his brother pulled on a loose tunic and pants before leaving the room, giving Fíli one final look before pulling the door shut behind him. 

He could feel his anger bubbling to the surface but he squashed it, needing to keep a clear head for the conversation he knew he needed to have. 

Tidying himself took longer than he would have liked, not that he wanted to wash away anything Kíli had left on him in the first place, but he made sure his presentation was immaculate before heading back to his chambers. He dug around the chest he kept in the room and withdrew one of his daggers; one Kíli had forged for him as an official courting gift. 

Its balance was perfect, and the blade wicked; the metal curved while the length ran up his arm when it was held in a backwards grip. The hilt itself was black, wrapped with thin gold lines; the gold as a tribute to his hair, and the black to help make it inconspicuous. All in all, it wasn’t flashy – the only decoration aside from the gold was the runes that lined the centre of the blade on both sides. 

But it was one of his most treasured, and he refused to part with it today; allowing its weight to be a reminder of what he would lose if he failed. 

Pulling up his sleeve, he strapped the sheath to his left forearm and slid the knife into place before covering it again, giving his arm a quick shake to make sure it wouldn’t dislodge unexpectedly. Satisfied, and with a final glance in the mirror to ensure everything was where it should be he left his room – his mind focused on his goal. 

* * *

Thorin looked up from the papers he’d been staring at blankly for the last hour when the door to his office was pushed open, and he took a slow, fortifying breath when Fíli entered. 

He shot a brief look to Dwalin and Frerin where the pair were watching as Fíli marched up to him, and hoped that the resignation on their faces wasn’t as poorly concealed on his own. 

Unlike his elders, Fíli’s realisation that there were others in the room was completely hidden; and he couldn’t help the swell of pride he felt at the level of control his eldest nephew had when facing unexpected situations. 

He just hoped that control would remain for the conversation he believed they were about to have. 

He’d suspected that Fíli would seek him out, but he’d desperately hoped he was wrong – that Fíli would be there as emotional support for his brother and family, while allowing Kíli to fight and die with dignity. 

The thought of the loss they would all soon face cut deep, but there was still a few hours to go yet – and he refused to wallow in his grief until it was appropriate to do so. 

He locked eyes with his nephew and gave him what he hoped was a smile, rather than a grimace. 

“Hello inúdoy, what brings you here?” 

Fíli stopped in front of his desk, clasping his hands behind his back before looking him in the eye. 

“I want you to stop this tournament, uncle.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Frerin’s face fall. His brother had always had a close connection with their nephews, sometimes more so than he did, and when he’d pulled him and Dwalin aside that morning to confess his fears Frerin had been adamant that Fíli wouldn’t act out; wouldn’t allow the desperation he was likely feeling to cloud his judgement. 

They had hoped. And it appeared they had been wrong. 

“Fíli, gimleth,” he sighed heavily, his heart aching at the truth of the situation. “There’s nothing I can do, you know this.” 

Fíli inclined his head in agreement, and the motion made him frown slightly, confused by how easy it had been. “You’re right,” Fíli said, before fixing him with a piercing gaze. “You can’t. But I can.” 

“Inúdoy,” he sighed again, shaking his head as he rounded the desk. “I know you wish you could, Durin knows I wish _I_ could – but these are Gods, Fíli. Gods who have cursed us for our treason once before. There is nothing you can do – nothing _anyone_ can do.” 

Fíli glared at him, and oh how young he looked right there. It was like he was looking at a seven year old bairn again who had just been told he wasn’t allowed to sleep in his sick brother’s bed in case he too fell ill. “You’re wrong Thorin,” Fíli growled. “We’re of the line of Durin - Mahal’s children. We’re the only ones who can.”

Instead of answering he came to stand in front of his nephew, stroking a hand down the side of his face gently. “Oh my boy,” he whispered. “I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be. Kíli’s not dead yet – and I won’t let it happen.” 

“That’s not all I am sorry for,” he replied softly, drawing their foreheads together. The gesture was more for his comfort than his nephew’s, but he hoped that the boy would find his own peace from the show of affection before his world was taken from him.

With Fíli’s vision otherwise occupied, his free hand extended minutely towards Dwalin where he flicked his fingers in the agreed signal. “I’m sorry for ever allowing you and Kíli to declare your bond.”

Fíli’s head was wrenched from his grasp – drawing back as though burned. Clearly he was lost for words, and gaped openly. “What did you say?”

“I should have trusted my judgement,” he continued, ensuring Fíli’s eyes were fixed on him and no one else. “I knew allowing this to go on would be what broke you when Kíli’s time came. But I had hoped that I was wrong; that you would be strong enough to weather the grief that would come with this fight. I’m so sorry that I failed you, gimleth. I hope one day you will forgive me.”

Before Fíli had a chance to respond Dwalin was right behind him, wrapping one arm around his waist while using his other hand to cover the boy’s mouth and nose with the cloth they’d laced with nightshade; an oil that was potent in large quantities, but when diluted would be enough to knock someone out temporarily.

Betrayal burned in Fíli’s eyes as he realised what was happening, and it killed him to see such a look aimed his way. The chance that Fíli would forgive him was zero, but if it meant he didn’t lose his remaining nephew by the day’s end, then so be it.

As expected, Fíli struggled furiously; snarling and bucking as he tried to throw Dwalin off - but his panicking only made him breathe quicker and so he succumbed to the vapour immediately. His eyes rolled back, and Fíli would have collapsed in a heap if Dwalin hadn’t hooked his free arm around his legs to scoop the boy against his chest.

“Take him to the cells,” he muttered. A glint at Fíli’s waist caught his eye, and a quick examination revealed a dagger Kíli had made for his brother. It was a beautiful weapon, so very Fíli that he could see why his nephew favoured it so much. Unfortunately leaving it with the boy wasn’t an option, not when there was a chance he’d turn it on himself when he woke and realised what had been done, and so deft fingers removed it quickly until such a time it could be returned safely.

Leaning forward he pressed a kiss against his nephew’s brow while fighting down the urge to be sick at what he’d done. “He’ll be safe there until this is all over.”

Dwalin looked less than pleased, but nodded anyway; holding Fíli close as they crossed the room. It was only when the door shut behind his friend did he collapse against the desk, burying his head in his hands.

“He’ll never forgive you.”

He looked up, and winced at the disappointment and grief on his brother’s face. “I had no other choice.”

“But you did, Thorin,” Frerin countered. “There were so many other ways you could have handled this. Fíli needs to be there. Kíli _needs_ him to be there – and you’ve what? Locked him away? Kíli will spend the tournament with half an eye in the stands looking for his brother, and he’ll die not knowing or understanding why Fíli wasn’t there for him!” Frerin was growing angry, but Thorin didn’t have the heart to try and talk his brother down.

“The boy will go to the Halls, believing that his own brother abandoned him! How will they fare when it’s Fíli’s turn to return to the stone?! Do you honestly think Kíli will wait for him?! Or do you think that Fíli will be abandoned, because that’s what _he_ did to his brother.”

“What would you have me do, Frer?” he asked tiredly. “Allow the boy to martyr himself? If an unMarked enters the arena, their life is forfeit – you know this. Kíli would never forgive us if we gave Fíli the opportunity to end his life.”

“So what? We torture both boys just to try and keep one alive?”

He looked at his brother, taking in the agitation he was displaying and shook his head. “I will tell Kíli what has happened,” he said. “Kíli would never forgive us if we let something happen to Fíli – not if we had the power to stop it. Yes, he’ll be disappointed that Fíli isn’t there, but at least he’ll know he can focus on the fight ahead without worrying about Fíli doing something foolish.”

Frerin blinked, apparently caught off guard by his decision. “You’d do that?”

“I love them both as much as you do,” he reminded his brother – clapping a hand on the blond’s shoulder as he led him from the room. There was nothing else he could do to kill time, and he wanted to spend as much of it with Kíli as he could. “And I won’t make one suffer when I know what his reaction will be. Kíli will do whatever he can to keep Fíli safe, and I know he’ll go along with this.”

Frerin didn’t look happy, but he didn’t argue – and together the two uncles walked side by side as they went to say goodbye to their youngest.


	6. This Raging Fire Within

**A/N: Hello all! Haha that last chapter took an unexpected turn, didn't it! :D Glad you're all enjoying it, here's hoping you like the next chapter just as much!  
**

**Random note: I've seen Frozen 2 twice, and I friggin' love it. What an awesome movie! :D**

**Music that inspired this chapter was Captain Marvel's "I'm All Fired Up."**

**Special shout out to[KiliLover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiliLover), [Bubbles759](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubbles759), [inkling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkling), [Blueskydancers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueskydancers), [Toeinthewater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toeinthewater), [Shadowmom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowmom), [PeneighDzredfohl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeneighDzredfohl), [mina86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mina86), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [MissCallaLilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCallaLilly), [Froot_Luips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froot_Luips), [Fiaxfour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiaxfour), and [Silva_13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silva_13) as well as 5 guests left kudos on this work!**

* * *

**_Fíli. Wake up, Mellon._ **

**_You must wake up Fíli! Your brother needs you._ **

**_Your people need you._ **

**_Fight the drugs, they won’t last long – they weren’t designed for someone like you._ **

**_I need you to show Him that this is wrong._ **

**_You need to put Him in his place._ **

**_Do you hear that, Fíli?_ **

**_The audience grows louder – the tournament is starting._ **

**_Wake up, Fíli._ **

**_WAKE UP!_ **

* * *

Kíli swallowed heavily as he faced the door that would soon give him access to the arena; stamping down the fear that was threatening to swallow him whole. 

He needed to clear his mind. 

Needed to focus. 

He... he needed Fíli. 

_No,_ he snarled to himself. _Thorin is doing what’s best for us both. Fíli is safe, that’s all that matters._

When Thorin had told him what had occurred in his office two hours before, he hadn’t known what to think. 

He was upset. He was angry. He... he was relieved, in some small way – and so that was what he’d held onto when he’d said goodbye to the rest of his family. 

When he’d told Fíli that he didn’t want the blond joining him until he was old and grey he hadn’t been lying – the thought of Fíli sacrificing himself when he had so much to live for pained him beyond words; and as Fíli could be a noble idiot if he thought he could make a difference on the best of days, he’d undoubtedly try. 

That was why all the soldiers were so loyal to him; Fíli had put himself in harm’s way more often than not to save someone and had somehow, miraculously, avoided serious injury every time. 

How Fíli wasn’t dead a dozen times over, he had no idea. 

The fact Fíli had demanded Thorin stop the tournament, saying that he could take on the Gods was worrying and slightly laughable – and it showed just how deep his grief must be running if he believed he could take on someone who was powerful _and_ immortal. 

Not to mention someone that hadn’t been seen for centuries... 

He shook his head, taking comfort from the fact that he and Fíli had said their goodbyes, and that Fíli was now safe. 

As the doors slowly creaked open he took a deep breath, allowing the roar of the crowd to wash over him as he stepped into the arena. 

He lifted his sword high, and grinned. 

He would not be the first to fall today. 

* * *

_WAKE UP!_

Fíli jolted awake, his head ringing with a woman’s yell and his eyes protesting the sudden intrusion of light. 

“Durin’s balls,” he muttered, pressing a hand to his head as he sat up slowly. _What had he been drinking last night?_

Blinking muzzily, he looked at his surroundings and took in the bars that appeared on all sides.

“What the...”

For the second time that day, memory slammed into him full force and he sat there, stunned. 

_The tournament._

_Kíli._

_Talking to Thorin._

_Being drugged by Thorin..._

“THORIN! YOU UTTER _BASTARD!_ ” he thundered, leaping to his feet and storming across the cell so he could grab the door and shake it.

Locked.

He let out a roar of frustration and hurt and gripped the bars harder; willing for the pain to cut into his hands – just so he could feel _something_ other than this all-consuming rage.

Controlling fire was one thing, but breaking out of prison was another – and it’s not something he’d been trained for.

“GANDALF!” he roared, hoping someone would be nearby that would come and investigate the ruckus he was making. “GALADRIEL! _ANYONE!”_

He closed his eyes and squeezed the bars tighter again until his knuckles turned white, his anger washing over him, flooding his veins with fire and –

\- And the _glob_ sound that echoed around the room made him look down in surprise. The metal he’d been holding mere seconds ago was now sitting in a molten heap at his feet.

His hands were also on fire.

Stumbling backwards and cursing aloud in shock, Fíli held them away from him – utterly confused and a little bit terrified. But before he even had the chance to register what he was seeing, the scrape of metal on stone made him look down. 

“What in Durin’s name...” 

There was a thick, metal chain by his feet – the cuff a smouldering mess at the end of it. 

He was so confused. 

Scratch that, he was completely at a loss – what was happening to him?

_Your emotions control your powers._

He froze as Gandalf’s voice whispered in his ears, and he stared at his hands as he mulled the sentence over.

“Your emotions control your powers,” he muttered. “Your emotions control your powers. Your emotions control -”

He gasped, dumbfounded. “Son of a bitch. Gandalf, you sneaky bastard.”

That sentence had ruled his life for years, and it was only now – surrounded by iron and the threat of losing his brother hanging over him that he truly understood what that meant.

He exhaled, and let his control go as he moved back to the door and placed his hand over the lock. 

Flames suddenly appeared, wrapping around his hand in tendrils - the yellow and blue almost dancing as it moved. As he let his anger wash over him, the flames burned brighter; and he smirked triumphantly when the metal melted beneath his fingertips.

Once the lock was nothing more than a puddle of slag he gave the door a gentle push and it swung open with ease. The satisfaction he felt was short lived as an echoing roar filtered through the window; the tournament had started. Fíli exhaled slowly and hurried for the door. He now knew what he had to do. 

He was going to put an end to this, once and for all. 

* * *

Kíli looked around the arena wildly, panting as he took in the scene before him. 

Two dwarves were dead or dying already, their bodies littering the arena floor as he and the remaining dwarves danced around each other. 

The two that were dead had been the most arrogant of the lot in the final few days, and while he loathed the fact they had to die at all he had a grim satisfaction that when he did die, it wouldn’t be by their blades. 

His mind might have been wandering slightly, but his attention and adrenaline were not; which was the only reason he was able to duck the knife that was hurtling through the air for his head. 

Righting himself he glared at the offending dwarf and hefted his sword higher.

He was ready.

* * *

Fíli barely felt the ground beneath his feet as he sprinted through the halls, his breathing controlled and his mind focused as he made his way to the arena. 

For the few dwarves that were still in the mountain, they said nothing as he passed by; but the stares he noticed as he drew level with them told him he must look a sight. Oh well, if they weren’t going to be in the arena like everyone else then they could be left to wonder what was happening. 

The roar of the crowd grew louder the closer he got, and he allowed himself a moment to orientate where he was versus where he needed to be before changing direction slightly. As expected, thanks to his familiarity with the arena he soon saw one of the doors that led to the battleground ahead of him. 

There were a few dwarves lingering nearby; guards who were there to keep people out and grounds keepers who would clean up the arena and remove the bodies so they could be prepared for burial. 

He was spotted, and there was yelling as the guards tried to grab him but he slipped past with ease; their hands barely grazing him. 

The noise of the crowd grew, and he ignored it in favour of throwing his hands forward, allowing a blast of magic – and he was convinced it was a fluke of luck it worked at all - to blow the doors apart as he charged into the melee. 

“ENOUGH!”

* * *

Thorin could barely watch, and after a brief glance around his family he knew that none of them were much better. 

Personally he hated the games, hated what they stood for and what they lost – but as the heir and then King he’d had a responsibility to his people to be there for every match, and so he’d developed a tolerance for such a senseless sport. 

But that tolerance was gone, having to watch his nephew fight for his life. 

The boy had been trained rigorously over the years; his training never ending in the hope that he wouldn’t be the first to die. But he also hoped desperately that Kíli wouldn’t be the last one standing, honour be damned, because it meant that his boy; his sweet, innocent, always smiling boy, would then have to take his own life in front of the crowd. 

There were no winners in this tournament. And certainly no survivors. 

He glanced to his right where Dís and Víali were seated, and his heart ached for the pair who were sitting there silently, arms around each other as tears poured down their face. 

Glancing to the left he found Frerin and Dwalin in much the same boat; both warriors unable to hide how much their impending loss would affect them. 

Gandalf and Galadriel – he was still confused about why she was here in the first place - sat beside them; the two large folk only half focused on the battle as they talked quietly. 

Initially, he didn’t want them there, convinced the Royal Box should be kept for family only, but Gandalf had been insistent - claiming that they could help calm anyone who may need it by the end. 

And considering the stress his sister and brother in-law were under, he had to agree that their presence would be helpful. 

The ruckus below grabbed his attention and he frowned, leaning forward to peer over the rails and see what the commotion was about. 

The doors slammed open and he groaned sadly at the thought of another needless death their people would face that day, only for his heart to stutter to a stop when blond hair flew through the door and towards the fighters. 

_Fíli._

“No,” Dís whimpered, sobbing openly at the sight of her eldest below them. “Fíli, no.” 

“ENOUGH!” 

His nephew’s yell echoed around the stadium, and the crowd – who had moments ago been cheering the fighters on were now muttering and gasping in shock at the sight of their Crown Prince before them. 

Anger overcame him and he leaped to his feet, hands slamming down onto the railings as he glared at the blond before yelling at the fighters who had frozen the moment the door opened. “STOP THE FIGHT!” he roared, before turning his ire on his nephew. “FÍLI! GET UP HERE. _NOW._ ” 

* * *

It appeared he’d gotten there just in time. 

The moment he’d burst through the doors, Fíli had looked for his brother and was relieved when he saw he was still standing. 

He was bleeding, dirty and locked in a battle with the remaining two dwarves, but he was standing nonetheless. 

His yell separated them, the three stumbling away from one another in shock at the interruption. 

He barely had time to register the horror on Kíli’s face before Thorin was roaring for the match to be stopped. 

“FÍLI!” He turned and looked into the Royal box, the regret he knew he should feel at subjecting his family to his actions squashed by his new found confidence. “GET UP HERE. _NOW._ ” 

He locked eyes with Gandalf and Galadriel who were watching him, smiling knowingly and gave them a brief nod. Turning his attention to Kíli, he gave the brunet a reassuring smile before spinning on his heel and stalking out of the arena. 

As he entered the back section he shook his head at the guards who were running around, panicking. He felt bad for them – after all they had been tasked with keeping everyone out and he’d blown past their defences without batting an eye. It was what he wanted, but it also meant his life was now forfeit; something that would be quite a large black mark in their service records. 

Hopefully once this was all dealt with, Thorin would be lenient on them. 

He turned the corner and entered the hallway that led to his family – and stopped suddenly when he found his way blocked by a strikingly beautiful woman. 

“Hello Fíli,” she said, her voice soft but strong. “I’ve been waiting for you.” 

“Who are you?” he asked, frowning as he tried to place where he might know her from. He hadn’t met a lot of human’s in his lifetime, so he was pretty confident he’d remember meeting one so beautiful. 

Her eyes, which were as green as emeralds flashed when she smirked. “You know who I am.” 

_Hair as dark as charcoal._

_Eyes as green as emeralds._

_A face of beauty._

_A third hand placed on his own when he spoke with Galadriel._

_I need you to show Him that this is wrong._

_You need to put Him in his place._

_WAKE UP!_

He blinked, startled. He knew exactly who he was looking at, and if Yavanna was here to see him in person, then it meant things were really about to go down. 

She chuckled at the realisation that was evidently on his face, and held her hand out to him. “You and I need to have a chat, little one.” 

“Shit.” 

She laughed outright at that, grinning at his expression as she snapped her fingers and everything turned white.


	7. The Voice on the Wind

**A/N: Hi again! That was an unexpected delay in updating - the South Island of NZ has been utterly hammered with bad weather this past week and a half (I'll take the flooding over Australia's bushfires any day though, yeesh!) and unfortunately the network cable coming out of Ashburton (just outside of Christchurch) broke last night, so everyone south of there (including little ol' me in Queenstown) had no service for internet and for some people, phones as well. My phone could connect, but my computer, which holds this little nugget of a story, did not. Crisis seems to be averted at the moment, so that's always a bonus!**

**I forgot to mention as well, that the music that inspired the last chapter was Captain Marvel's "I'm All Fired Up." And for those who know the movie, I think it relates quite well :D**

**Only a short-ish chapter this one, before we get into the (I hope) good stuff!**

**Shout out to[islandkate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/islandkate), [karebear119](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karebear119), [KiliLover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiliLover), [Bubbles759](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubbles759), [inkling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkling), [Blueskydancers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueskydancers), [Toeinthewater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toeinthewater), [Shadowmom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowmom), [PeneighDzredfohl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeneighDzredfohl), [mina86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mina86), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [MissCallaLilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCallaLilly), [Froot_Luips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froot_Luips), [Fiaxfour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiaxfour), and [Silva_13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silva_13) as well as the 6 guests who've kudosed and commented, you guys are awesome! **

* * *

When his eyes began to register colour again Fíli found himself in a forest, sitting on a rock beside a large waterfall and surrounded by lusciously green trees. It was beautiful, and peaceful, and the only reason he wasn’t panicking like he knew he should be when one goes from a mountain to a forest in the literal blink of an eye was because Yavanna was sitting on a rock opposite him, her head cocked as she studied him intently. 

After several moments of silence, save for the waterfall, he coughed awkwardly. “Um, hi?” 

“Hello little one,” she replied, her smirk returning briefly as she continued her examination. “You know who I am?” 

“Yavanna, right?” he said. Although he was certain as to who she was, he still wanted to check in case she was one of the other Gods and he had made a serious error in judgement. When she inclined her head, he sighed in relief. “And let me guess, you want me to stop this mission of mine before I get hurt?” 

Yavanna snorted heavily, and he blinked in surprise. “Is something funny?” 

“It is indeed, little one. You, and the fact you think I want you to abandon your quest of stopping my husband – when in fact I want the complete opposite.” 

Fíli blinked. And blinked again. “What?” 

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said, leaning to the side slightly to trail a hand in the water without breaking their eye contact. “I love my husband dearly; but this punishment of his has not only gone too far, but it should never have happened in the first place.” 

Well at least someone on the godly plane had some semblance of brains. “Okaaay…” 

“Mahal, bless him, has been blinded by his power. He created the dwarves as his way to show his love for me, which was a lovely thought – but then he just dropped this curse on you without thinking it through!” Fíli leaned back slightly at the frustration resonating from the God in front of him, wary that he might end up with a concussion or worse if she kept throwing her hand and ire around the way she was. 

“I mean, dwarves are flawed enough as it is, thank you very much,” she continued, and yep – he was officially lost now. Not to mention a little bit insulted. “I’m about Life, not rocks! He knows this and yet ‘hey, I’ll make my lovely wife whom I adore very much a race of people that live in a lifeless rock and breed just as slowly! Honestly, what is it with men and not paying attention?!” 

The look she gave him indicated that she expected him to agree with her outburst, so he nodded hesitantly. He honestly wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to do at this point. 

“And _then_ , to make matters worse he goes and creates a curse that regularly kills your people because he thinks that your race is _flawed_!” 

It was then that it clicked. 

Fíli was somehow in the middle of a marital throw-down between two Gods. 

Durin’s balls, what even was his life?! 

By this point, Yavanna had withdrawn her hand from the water and pushed to her feet so she could pace the length of her rock, occasionally pointing at him as she spoke. “I am for the Living, and yet he gives me bloodshed. I thrive in the happiness of people, and yet he gives me their death and grief! What exactly is that supposed to say about his love for me, huh? _Our love shalt bloom and die if I don’t get my own way?!_ ” 

“So…” he ventured quietly, trying to work out where she was going with this without upsetting her further – because he was pretty certain that she was telling him, in some roundabout way, that she would help him? 

It was hard to tell, but he was certain this was where she was going with it. 

“You’re wanting less killing, is that right?” 

She looked at him like he was dim, and Fíli couldn’t help but shrink into himself slightly. 

“I would _like_ more ritualistic fucking, and less ritualistic killing, thank you very much.” 

He blushed, ducking his head awkwardly. “Uh… right,” he muttered. “That… that makes sense too. Sorry.”

“I want the celebration of life, fertility, growing stuff and, well… love. For things to be cherished again,” she continued. “And you and your brother are my way of showing him, _proving_ to him that what he’s doing is wrong.”

Fíli looked up at that, and frowned. “Wait,” he said slowly, fear bubbling up inside of him at the implication of her words. “Are you saying that you made us fall in love? That us being together wasn’t by choice?!”

Yavanna blinked, surprised, before rolling her eyes. “Of course not Fíli, don’t be daft. You and Kíli are soul bonded – you always have been. You just don’t have the mark to prove it because of Kíli’s curse; once that’s gone, your soul mark will return.”

Soul bonded.

That wasn’t a term he’d ever expected to be associated with his and Kíli’s relationship; purely due to the fact neither of them sported a bond mark in the first place. He refocused on Yavanna, and found her looking at him sympathetically. “You didn’t even suspect you might be soulbonded, not even once?”

“I uh – Kíli and I always assumed that it was just a normal relationship we had because there was nothing to say otherwise; despite the fact that we both knew we were it for each other. But you’re saying that we’re soul bonded? That... that we were always meant to be together?”

Yavanna held out a hand, and after a moment he reached across the gap between their rocks, watching curiously as she rolled up his sleeve before examining a spot on his arm closely.

He squirmed, suddenly uncomfortable at the attention she was showing him – or rather, the patch of skin that was no bigger than the length and width of two fingers and about two shades darker than anywhere else on his body.

When he was a child it had never been there, his arm one shade and as unmarred as any dwarfling in their twenties should be. Then one day, after a particularly uncomfortable night where he’d been sweating and shivering in turn the small patch of skin had grown a few shades darker and remained that way. 

There was no reason for it; no logical explanation that anyone could find and so he'd been forced to cover it up – unable to explain its purpose and afraid of being teased for something he had no control over. 

It was a blemish he was embarrassed of, which is why it stayed hidden, so to have someone stare at it as intently as Yavanna was – it was off putting, to say the least. As though she could read his mind – which to be fair, she probably could - Yavanna ran her thumb over the patch of skin once, and left Fíli gaping as the colour seemed to warp and draw into itself before solid lines formed. 

And spelled out Kíli’s name. 

“It’s...” 

“Like I said,” she murmured, releasing his arm so he could examine the mark. “You and your brother are soul bonded, and your bond is probably one of the purest I’ve seen in centuries – which is why I believe Kíli was Marked in the first place.” 

Fíli looked at her in disbelief. “Are you telling me that your husband decided to come between us by giving Kíli a mark?!” 

“No, I’m saying fate Marked your brother because it knew you would be the one to stop all of this,” she corrected. Yavanna cupped his face, to ensure he couldn’t look away from her. 

“My idiotic husband has lost his way, and I’m going to help you fix that.” Her eyes flashed, and Fíli felt like he was floating all of a sudden. He looked around and realised everything had become blurry. 

Everything except for her. 

“You’re going to show him what he’s doing is wrong, and you’re going to remind him of his place.”


	8. Wings A-Spreading

**A/N: You guys are doing so well to hang in there, we're finally getting to see some serious magical Fili happening, it's so exciting! I hope you all enjoy this chapter :D**

**I must admit, this chapter was also inspired by Captain Marvel's "I'm All Fired Up." It really is a good inspirational track!**

**Another random note for you all: my thoughts are with the families and friends of those who were injured or perished on Whakaari/White Island today. For those who don't know, Whakaari/White Island is a volcano in New Zealand, just outside the Bay of Plenty in the North Island. It's an active volcano and is monitored closely for any sign it might erupt as it's a tourist hotspot (pun not intended, I swear) - I myself have yet to go - and it erupted this afternoon unexpectedly. One minute it was silent, the next ash and cloud filled the air. There was literally no warning, other than that it was a bit more active in the past two weeks than normal, but that happens every year or so and hasn't erupted since 2001. People are still on the island as it's too unsafe for emergency services to get there, so they're expecting the fatalities to climb from the 5 already confirmed.**

**New Zealand is having a field day with 'disasters' at the moment. Fingers and toes crossed it sticks to just the flooding and 1 volcanic eruption. I don't think we're ready for anything else for a long while.**

**Special shout out to[lyarablack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyarablack), [islandkate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/islandkate), [karebear119](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karebear119), [KiliLover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiliLover), [Bubbles759](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubbles759), [inkling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkling), [Blueskydancers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueskydancers), [Toeinthewater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toeinthewater), [Shadowmom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowmom), [PeneighDzredfohl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeneighDzredfohl), [mina86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mina86), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [MissCallaLilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCallaLilly), [Froot_Luips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froot_Luips), [Fiaxfour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiaxfour), and [Silva_13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silva_13) as well as the 6 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!**

* * *

“-li! Fí -" 

“-ppening wiz -" 

“Fee, please!” 

“Ow.” 

Fíli cracked his eyes open as gasps and choked sobs echoed around him. He was flat on his back and staring at the ceiling, or would have been if Gandalf’s face wasn’t in the way. 

“Welcome back Fíli,” the wizard rumbled, offering a hand which he took gratefully and let himself be pulled into a seated position. “See anything interesting?”

“Enough of the riddles, wizard! What is going on here?” Thorin’s outburst made him blink when he realised that he was still in the arena. Only now he was surrounded by a faintly amused Galadriel and his rather terrified looking family. 

Including Kíli. 

“What happened?” he asked, rubbing a spot on his head that was throbbing something fierce. Blasted pointy things that stabbed unconscious dwarves in the head! 

“You scared the shit out of us,” Kíli whispered tearfully, and Fíli wasn’t surprised in the slightest to find his bloodied and battered brother wedged between their parents and uncles. “You scared the shit out of _me_.” 

“Yer fainted,” Dwalin grunted, and Fíli gave his brother an apologetic look before focusing on the older dwarf. “When yer didn’t make it to yer Uncle we came looking and found yer unconscious at the bottom of the stairs.” 

Ugh. Yavanna had made him faint like a blasted damsel. 

Hopefully he did it with some semblance of style. 

There was faint laughter in his ears, and he narrowed his eyes when he realised Yavanna was nearby and watching. Her laughter quickly changed to a soft gasp, just as a powerful rumble of thunder rent the air and made them all jump. _“He’s coming,”_ she whispered. 

No shit. 

Gandalf looked up at the noise before gripping his shoulder tightly. “What happened?” He asked again, his voice insistent and firm. “What did you see?” 

“I’m caught in the middle of a marital spat, is what happened,” he huffed, ignoring the sudden pain in his shoulder. Considering no one present had struck him at his comment, Yavanna didn’t quite appreciate his description of the situation. “But we have another ally; one who wants all of this to end as much as we do.” He looked at Galadriel who had moved off to the side, but was looking far too amused for herself. “It would have been good to know that yesterday, by the way.”

The elf winked, but said nothing.

“For the love of Mahal, Fíli,” Thorin ground out just as another clap of thunder boomed around them. “What are you talking about?” 

“I don’t have time to explain Thorin, I’m sorry.” Pushing to his feet, Fíli looked at Gandalf and Galadriel. “Keep them away and out of this,” he said. When his mentors nodded he turned to his family who were watching him worriedly. 

“No matter what happens out there, I need you all to stay away; do you hear me? If _any_ of you -” he looked around the group, eyeballing them each in turn so they knew he was serious, “try and interrupt, Gandalf or Galadriel will knock you out for your safety, is that clear?” 

When no one responded he rolled his eyes but didn’t comment. After all, silence was better than arguments so he’d take what he could get. “Good talk.” Inhaling deeply he strode back to the door he’d blown open earlier – which he realised was now sporting several large cracks and had panels missing in places. 

Oops. 

Conscious of the meagre repair job the door had been given he carefully pushed it open with his hands as he strode into the arena, looking up at the sky which was filled with roiling black clouds that were being torn apart by lightning. 

Impressed but unfazed by the light show he scanned the audience and found them cowering beneath the stadium awning, their terrified murmurs barely audible above the thunder that boomed around them. _At least they’re out of the way and safe_. 

The bodies of the two slain gladiators were still where they’d fallen, but the remaining two fighters were huddled with their families by the door he’d just entered, eyeing each other and the sky warily as though they expected either to attack. 

Another boom of thunder rattled the stadium which in turn resulted in more terrified cries from the crowd. He ignored them, looking around to work out any advantages the field might give him and it was during his examination he saw Gandalf ushering his family back to their seats.

 _Smart, Gandalf. Very smart_.

With his family well and truly out of the way he was able to focus on his task; and his task started with the largest bolt of lightning as it tore the sky apart and hurtled towards the arena floor. He raised his head and held his ground even as it made contact mere meters from where he stood.

Cries of horror echoed around him as the lightning remained, acting like a wall – or dare he say portal - before Mahal himself walked out; his face twisted in anger as he stalked towards him.

Impressed and a little bit nervous, Fíli ensured that he – and his face – remained calm as their Creator loomed over him; noting the disgusted once over he was given as Mahal stopped in front of him.

_Rude._

“You made a grave mistake, dwarf,” the God spat, drawing to his full height to better glare down at him. “You think you can stop me?! Your _God_ who can take what he desires?!”

Returning the glare, Fíli looked said God in the eye, allowing his anger to roll off him in waves. “I do, yes. This bloodshed – this _pointless_ bloodshed has gone on long enough, and it needs to stop. Now.”

Mahal laughed, guttural and disbelieving. “You think you can tell me what to do?! You, a simple _nobody_?!”

“He is not _nobody_.”

Fíli didn’t even flinch when Yavanna appeared beside him, instead taking the small victory for what it was when the audience reacted to a second God in their midst and Mahal took a step back, surprised.

“My love,” Yavanna continued, looking at her husband pleadingly even as she stood shoulder to shoulder with him in a united front, just as she’d promised. “Has your power and anger blinded you so much that you’ve lost sight of what you created?”

She opened her arms wide, motioning to the dwarves that surrounded them. “Have you forgotten your duty to the ones you always swore to look out for?”

“THEY BETRAYED ME!”

Fury coursed through his veins at the comment, but Yavanna beat him to it.

“Mahal, dear – I love you, but you are the biggest, most arrogant ass I have ever met,” she growled. “How in the world did they betray you?!”

“THEY ARE THE ONES WHO TOOK MY GENEROSITY AND THREW IT BACK IN MY FACE!” Mahal thundered. “THEY ARE THE ONES WHO -”

“ _Excuse me?”_ he snarled, the furious indignation literally pouring from each syllable strong enough that the Gods turned and looked at him in surprise. “G _enerous?!_ You?! That is complete and utter horse shit, and you know it.”

He could feel the tension in the arena, it was so thick. While the thunder and lightning still crackled and rolled above them, the audience had grown silent – as though they were holding their breath as they watched the shouting match below.

“NOW LISTEN HERE _BOY-_ ”

“No. You listen here,” he snapped. “I’ve read the annals of our history, going back even before all this curse bullshit started – and do you know what I found? Starvation. Suffering. Our lands were dying, our rivers drying up. Our people were desperate for food, and where were you? Sitting on your mound of gold not giving two shits about those who worshipped you, only the power their beliefs and offerings brought. Yes, there were some who stole from your monuments out of greed, but the rest took the money to buy food for the people – to ensure the survival of our race seeing as their god was too incompetent to do it himself.”

He looked at the God, the disgust he’d felt when he’d first read the tome more than likely showing on his face as he raised his chin defiantly. “If you weren’t so bad at your job, and so power mad, none of this would have happened! _Why should we worship such a lousy God_?”

Yavanna looked at him, her eyes narrowed and the air about her disappointed. “Yes dear, why should they worship you?”

The fury on Mahal’s face was hard to describe; but Fíli was certain the scholars would spend the rest of their lives trying to find a way to do so.

“YOU THINK YOU CAN CHALLENGE ME?!”

He smirked, allowing himself to truly feel his emotions for the first time. He could feel his power simmering in his veins, just waiting to be let out. And oh did he relish the knowledge of what was going to happen next.

“A wise man once told me that my emotions control my powers. For years I thought he meant that by controlling my emotions, I would control my powers – but I was wrong. The strength of my emotions determines the strength of my powers. And do you know what the strongest, purest emotion of all is? Love. Love for my people. Love for my family…” he turned his head, eyes sweeping over the crowd until the landed on his family; on his Kíli who was standing there, gripping the rails and looking truly terrified. They locked eyes, and Fíli could see the devotion and fear for his wellbeing in his brother’s features.

He never wanted to be the one to cause his brother pain again. 

Turning back to the God he glared in challenge. “And most importantly, love for my One – and you can’t have him.” 

Mahal also looked towards Kíli, and the bastard smirked. “You think you can stop me?” 

“You’re damn right I do.” 

Mahal began to glow; lightning dancing from his fingertips as his eyes turned white. 

“Let’s see then.” 

* * *

Up in the royal box, Kíli was pretty certain he was on the verge of having heart failure. A tiny nudge, that was all he needed, and he’d be toppling over the railings as dead as the dwarves below him. 

Oin hadn’t been summoned to tend to his injuries because they were mild – but if he did end up going over the railing he hoped the old healer was somewhere nearby to revive him long enough for him to thump his brother for… whatever this crazy situation was. 

“What in Durin’s name is happening, Gandalf?” his uncle asked from his spot beside him. His eyes never left his brother, but he had one ear on Frerin’s question, desperate for an answer himself. 

“Fíli is doing what needs to be done,” Galadriel replied serenely, and he turned to look at the elf in disbelief. She was standing a couple of feet away from him with her hands clasped in front of her, eyes focused on the argument below. “He has been training for this moment his whole life; and he finally understands.” 

“Enough of the riddles,” Thorin growled from his seat. “I have had enough of them for one day and would very much like for them to _stop_.” 

“What does my son understand?” Kíli glanced at his father, who was gripping his mother’s hand just as hard as she was probably gripping his. “And what do you mean he’s been training for this his whole life? How? When?” 

“If you chose to watch instead of asking questions,” Gandalf sighed, “then you would get your answers. As for Fíli, he knows what he’s doing – so a little faith in him wouldn’t go astray about now.” 

Kíli growled but turned back to watch his brother, frustrated with the lack of answers. He was suddenly grateful he’d turned his attention back to the happenings below – not to mention grateful for the lack of thunder – because his Fíli’s next words echoed for all to hear. 

“A wise man once told me that my emotions control my powers.” He frowned. What powers was he talking about? Fíli didn’t have any powers – it was impossible. 

Wasn’t it? 

_I can stop this. All of this. But I need you to not fight._

_I wish that were true, Fee. Gods, do I wish it were true._

_I can. You just have to trust me._

His eyes widened, shock washing over him when he realised that Fíli could very well be telling the truth. 

But the shock he felt at that realisation was nothing compared to what he heard next. Fíli talking about what drove his powers; that it was his emotions that controlled them – love being the strongest of all.

Love for his One.

Ones. 

There were several gasps around him, but he was too busy dealing with that simple word ringing in his ears. 

It was a title that he’d never even dared to consider, let alone label their relationship – but hearing it now, and how simple yet perfect it was he knew it couldn’t be anything else. 

The awe he was certain was on his face faded quickly when he realised Mahal was staring at him too, and he swallowed nervously. Thankfully it didn’t last long before the God turned his attention back to his brother – and frankly he didn’t know whether he should feel grateful or worried. 

“You think you can stop me?” 

“You’re damn right I do.” 

“Let’s see then.” 

He gasped when the God began to glow, and screamed when Mahal lifted a hand, hitting Fíli square in the chest with a bolt of lightning. 

“FÍLI! NO!” 

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, and he was helpless to watch as his brother was attacked with something he had no hope of stopping. 

“FÍLI!” 

* * *

The power that slammed into him was like nothing he’d ever felt before. 

Fíli stood there and allowed Mahal to throw his lightning at him, marvelling at the warmth that was hitting his chest but seemed to just… melt into him. It was a strange thing, to look down the length of a bolt of lightning; see it’s whites and blues as it flowed from its source and into him and know that it wasn’t hurting him in any way. 

He could also see the confused anger on the Gods face, and watched as Mahal raised his hand. When the lightning hit him from above as well, he wasn’t surprised in the slightest. Instead he stood there and opened his arms wider, smirking challengingly. 

The God snarled and poured even more power into his lightning, so he just stood there and took it – unable to see anything beyond the white that surrounded him. 

Eventually it stopped, and Mahal looked at him confused, panting a little. “You’re not a God. You should be dead, phoenix tears be damned.” 

Looking the Valar in the eye, Fíli smirked. “You made one fatal flaw when you designed your line,” he replied, shucking his coat and tunic so his torso was bare; and while he knew Mahal wouldn’t be able to see it, he knew the crowd and his family would see the phoenix tattoo that covered the expanse of his back for the first time. 

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time for Kíli, but it would be the first time that its purpose made sense to him.

“The blood of the Valar, _your_ blood, flows through my veins. It may have filtered down over the centuries but I’m just as much a God as you are.” 

The shock on Mahal’s face was priceless. But the fact it was there told him that when he’d forged Durin the First, he’d never stopped to consider he was giving his line power stronger than his own. 

“So, let me show you what happens when a Valar is infused with the power of the phoenix.” 

Closing his eyes, he allowed his emotions to swallow him whole for the first time ever. 

And it was here that his powers - which had started from little more than a party trick to tendrils of flames wrapped around his hand – burst to life and enveloped his entire body. 

His skin was alight, right from the top of his head down to his toes; somehow he knew that even his eyes were glowing – although that possibly had something to do with the weird golden sheen his vision now had. 

“You’re going to get rid of the curse you’ve put on your people, _my_ people,” he ordered, his anger making his flames burn brighter as he stared the god down. “Now.” 

Mahal began to glow again, and Fíli couldn’t help himself; he smirked, falling into a fighting stance – one foot back and his fists balled by his waist, ready to go. 

“I will remove the curse if you defeat me.” 

He looked to Yavanna who was standing off to the side and glaring at her husband, frustration pouring off her in waves. She looked at him and nodded, and he in turn looked back at his Creator. 

“Bring it.”


	9. Phoenix Rising

**A/N: Woot! Nearly at the end! Can't wait to see what you all think of this chapter :D**

**Also... I may currently be working on the next chapter of Friend's With Many Benefits... Just saying... O.o**

**Shout out to[lyarablack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyarablack), [islandkate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/islandkate), [karebear119](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karebear119), [KiliLover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiliLover), [Bubbles759](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubbles759), [inkling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkling), [Blueskydancers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueskydancers), [Toeinthewater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toeinthewater), [Shadowmom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowmom), [PeneighDzredfohl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeneighDzredfohl), [mina86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mina86), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [MissCallaLilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCallaLilly), [Froot_Luips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froot_Luips), [Fiaxfour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiaxfour), and [Silva_13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silva_13) as well as the 7 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are amazing! **

* * *

The speed with which Mahal moved to strike him was incredible, for one so old – but Fíli refused to let it bother him; instead he ensured his mind was clear, his attention focused solely on the God in front of him as his years of training was put to the ultimate test.

A punch propelled forward by lightning hurtled towards his face and he lifted his left arm, grunting as the power behind the strike rattled his bones even as he blocked it before raising his right and responded in kind; his punch laden with power and delivered just as heavily.

They traded blows; each one stronger than the last while circling one another as they tried to get the upper hand. Ducking a blow clearly aimed at his head Fíli struck out in quick succession; a jab to the stomach, then a left hook to the face before finishing it with an upper cut to the jaw – and he smirked when each one met its mark and sent Mahal stumbling backwards.

With the God off balance he allowed his fury to build before throwing a ball of fire at his face, making Mahal drop to one knee and so he repeated the action; each fireball growing in size and strength as he sent them relentlessly.

He was so focused on pummelling Mahal with fire that when a bolt of lightning cut through the flames and slammed directly into his chest he couldn’t absorb it; the blow solid enough that it sent him sprawling several meters away. Fíli grunted when his head slammed into the ground, stars bursting across his vision from the force and making it hard to see.

The blade that came hurtling towards him, however, was easy enough to identify that he was able to roll away in time before it plunged into his chest.

Regaining his feet in one quick, fluid movement Fíli looked at Mahal, panting, as the God twirled his sword with feral grin.

Where had that come from?!

“You should have stayed down and let me put you out of your misery!”

Fíli growled at the taunt and raised his fists. “You needing a weapon only proves what I’ve always suspected; you’re _weak_ \- you need something to hide behind and do your dirty work because you’re too cowardly to do it yourself!”

Mahal laughed; the sound so maniacal and twisted that it sent a shiver up his spine. “My fists cannot paint the ground with your blood no matter how hard I try,” the God replied, pointing his sword at him in challenge. “But my blade will slit your throat; and I, along with the rest of your worthless people will have the joyous task of watching you bleed out.”

Sadly, the God was right. Without a weapon of his own he stood no chance in defending himself against an armed madman.

“YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF!”

Yavanna appeared beside him, using her own powers – which were fuelled by her fury with her spouse - to blast her husband half way across the arena. Mahal let out an infuriated roar as the gap between them suddenly widened – but Fíli was grateful for the reprieve, no matter how temporary it may be.

He was about to tell her that he’d deal with whatever the outcome was when a nudge to his hand made him look down, and he gaped at the sword she was holding out to him. Looking up, the disbelief on his face must’ve been pretty evident.

“Where did you get that?!”

It wasn’t his – those were still locked away in the armoury seeing as he hadn’t even stopped to think they might be needed when he bust out of his cell – but it was a gorgeous broadsword; the blade wicked looking as it glinting in the light of his flame and – the moment he grasped it, it conducted his flame without showing signs of weakening.

“This is a weapon of a God, far superior to your usual one,” Yavanna told him quickly, throwing her husband a dirty look as he charged. “It will stand up to whatever you do – it will not fail.”

He nodded once, refocusing his attention on the God that was bearing down on him even as his mind noted when she vanished from his side. Gripping the hilt in both hands, Fíli brought the sword up to parry – sneering as he did so.

Hand to hand combat was something he was excellent at; but put a sword in his hand and he was among the best.

It was time to show this bastard that you don’t mess with the line of Durin.

Fíli exhaled slowly as he prepared himself for the oncoming blow, allowing his rage to refuel his fire once again; the flames burning blindingly bright and building in power so strongly he doubted Mahal would be prepared for the resistance he was about to meet.

Mahal let out a roar, pushing off from the ground and leaping towards him – his sword raised high above his head ready to bring it down on him, but Fíli was ready. His own sword raised he prepared himself to defend; his muscles fluid and loose to take the shock of power that was barrelling down on him.

“FÍLI!”

It was only by pure luck that he managed to keep his focus and his footing long enough to shove Mahal away.

With all the circling they’d done, Fíli had ended up side on to the door of the arena – the door that had since been reopened by his idiotic brother who was being visibly restrained by his Uncles’, father and Dwalin.

All this he’d seen from the corner of his eye in a split second – and to put it simply, he’d completely forgotten he had an audience. His focus had been so direct that the sound of the crowd chanting his name, his family… all of it had faded into little more than white noise.

But Kíli’s cry for him had been enough to break his focus; something he desperately needed to regain if he was to win this fight. Another roar had him turning back, parrying the next three blows that came in quick succession and with such force that he could feel the shockwaves reverberate around the stadium. He grunted, dodged a fourth blow and quickly followed it up with one of his own. When Mahal blocked it he twisted his wrist so that their blades were locked together, bringing them face to face.

“I’ve changed my mind about slitting your throat,” Mahal snarled, lowering his head so there was mere inches between them. “Instead I’m going to remove your hands, then gut you – and while you bleed out at my feet I’m going to take your brother and force him to his knees, facing you, and you’re going to watch as I slowly push my blade through his back until it drives through his heart, and you’re not going to be able to hold him as the life fades from his eyes.”

Fíli roared, his yell filled with fury and anguish. He brought his knee up, aiming for something but missing as the god danced out of the way, and it was a miracle that he managed to get his sword up in time to stop the god from caving his head in.

“YOU WON’T TOUCH HIM!”

“Tell me, little phoenix – should I drive my blade through his spine first? Stop him from being able to crawl to you in his final moments, or should I just put him out of his misery? Relieve him of the pain of watching you lose?”

“BASTARD!” He howled, charging and striking with unbridled rage.

“FEE!”

Fíli struck at Mahal heavily, sending him stumbling back long enough for him to turn and lob a ball of fire at Kíli’s feet; the flame exploding with such force it sent his brother stumbling back into the arms he’d just broken free of.

His uncles’ and father were yelling something, but he couldn’t make it out – the blood rushing in his ears too loudly for him to hear clearly. But it didn’t matter. With a roar he charged Mahal and their swords clashed – blow for blow raining down as they tried to kill the other.

Fire and lightning clashed, each blow booming around the stadium with a force never before felt or seen by any of their kind before.

Fíli swung, but missed – and was instead greeted with Mahal’s fist as it slammed into his face. He tried again, but was still dizzy from the blow and so his blade went wide.

Too wide to block Mahal’s sword which buried into his side.

He cried out in pain, but refused to let it stop him. Pushing his fire into the sword the blade burned brightly, blinding the God long enough that he was able to distract him long enough to slice deeply into Mahal’s thigh.

“ _FÍLI!”_

A split second was all it took.

The heartbroken cry of his name. A quick flick of his eyes.

It was enough of a distraction for Mahal to grab his wrist and squeeze so hard that he dropped his sword before grabbing his collar and pulling him forward once, twice, three times into his fist before striking him across the temple, leaving him dazed and confused.

Next thing Fíli knew he was on his knees; his flame forcibly extinguished, his vision partially obscured by blood and swelling, a hand tangled painfully in his hair and a heavy weight pressing against his neck.

Gasps echoed around the arena, the crowd falling silent as they watched on in horror.

“Look around, little phoenix,” Mahal sneered, bringing his face close so they were cheek to cheek, the God peering out at the crowd Fíli could barely see. “Take one long last look at those you call kin. Let them feast their eyes on you, on your failure. Let them see your eyes as the light fades, as you die before them, knowing you failed. Let them see what happens to those who defy their God.”

“ENOUGH, HUSBAND!”

Biting back a groan Fíli peered up, squinting as he did so to see Yavanna standing before him, her face filled with anguish as she looked at them both. “This has gone too far, Mahal. Stop this. Now.”

“STAY OUT OF THIS, WOMAN!”

Swallowing, Fíli winced as his throat rubbed on the steel pressed firmly against it. “It’s okay,” he rasped, looking Yavanna in the eye even as his head was pulled back further. “I lost. I wasn’t strong enough.”

Yavanna shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “No, Fíli. No.”

“He’s going to take Kíli from me anyway,” he continued. “I would rather die, knowing I tried my hardest to save the one I love, than live knowing I failed.

Mahal chuckled, the sound a twisted thing. “Foolish boy. For defying me, you will never gain entrance to the Halls of your ancestors. You will never see your brother again.”

No.

Fíli’s heart sped up slightly, the thought of being denied entry to their final resting place – his final resting place with _Kíli_ , was a threat too horrible to consider. He shook slightly, but when he spoke his voice remained even. “Then what are you waiting for?” He asked. “Get it over with.”

“Mahal,” Yavanna whispered, “husband. _Please._ Look around you – look at what you’ve done.”

“THEY BETRAYED ME!”

“YOU BETRAYED THEM! YOU SWORE AN OATH TO PROTECT THEM, LOVE THEM, AND YOU FAILED THEM!” Breathing deeply, Yavanna waved to the silent audience. “You made the dwarves as a sign of your everlasting love to me. And yet you kill them for sport.” The Goddess took another breath, but despite trying to calm herself her next words came out wobbly and uneven. “Is this truly how you feel about our love? Do you truly despise me so? If so, then I do not think I can remain your wife any longer.”

Mahal was silent for a long while, so long in fact that Fíli could have sworn the God might have been biding his time before slitting his throat and ending the fight permanently.

But what he didn’t know, what he couldn’t see, was the horror on the God’s face.

He couldn’t see the way Mahal looked around the stadium at the gathered dwarves. Couldn’t see the realisation that washed over him as he realised that it wasn’t reverence on his people’s face - but fear and devastation – a look he had long ago sworn he would never let them feel.

He couldn’t see the way Mahal’s eyes lingered on Kíli – his brother who was crumpled on the ground, tears streaming down his cheeks as he was held by his family; unable to get any closer for risk of being killed himself. Couldn’t see the moment Mahal realised that he wasn’t tearing two brother’s apart – but two soulmates.

Like he and Yavanna.

“Fíli was born in your image, husband,” Yavanna continued softly, slowly approaching until she could place one hand on her husband’s face, the other on his sword. “He was created to lead his people, _your_ people, so that they would live in peace and prosperity, and would celebrate your name as long as they lived.”

With a tiny amount of pressure, Yavanna moved the blade away from Fíli’s neck. “You have been lost to me for so long. Please, husband. Come back to me.”

Fíli flinched when Mahal’s sword hit the ground, and exhaled heavily when the tight pressure in his hair suddenly vanished. It was with great pain that Fíli managed to turn himself to watch the Gods’, watch their exchange so he could figure out exactly what was going on.

“I… I’m sorry,” Mahal whispered, stumbling back a step. “Forgive me, all of you. Please.”

Before anyone had the chance to reply, before Fíli even had the chance to open his mouth, Mahal vanished – leaving a stunned silence in his wake.

He looked to Yavanna, hoping for answers. He was confused and aching all over; in need of rest, and a healer. Probably a bath too, and likely in that order before he tried to work out exactly what just happened.

The Goddess just shook her head, her eyes filled with worry as she approached him. Before he could even ask her to clarify exactly what just happened, his body made the decision of what would happen next.

Rest it was.

The darkness that had been lingering on the edges of his vision for the past few minutes suddenly smothered all light, his world narrowing to Yavanna’s worried face before that too disappeared completely.

Unable to fight it, Fíli instead welcomed the darkness with open arms by allowing it to take over and collapsed into the arms of oblivion.


	10. Together We Shall Rise From The Ashes

**A/N: Last chapter for you all! I hope you've all enjoyed this wee story, and that it kept you guessing every now and again :)**

**One last shout out to all these lovely people:[EmeraldJaded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldJaded), [lyarablack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyarablack), [islandkate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/islandkate), [karebear119](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karebear119), [KiliLover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiliLover), [Bubbles759](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubbles759), [inkling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkling), [Blueskydancers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueskydancers), [Toeinthewater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toeinthewater), [Shadowmom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowmom), [PeneighDzredfohl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeneighDzredfohl), [mina86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mina86), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [MissCallaLilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCallaLilly), [Froot_Luips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froot_Luips), [Fiaxfour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiaxfour), and [Silva_13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silva_13) as well as the 8 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!**

* * *

Dís entered the royal medical chamber with her tray in hand and made her way quietly over to the bed that held the object of her worries.

It had been three days since the tournament; a mere three days since she’d expected to watch her youngest die in front of her either by his own hand or another’s, and had found her fears ended just as quickly as the fight had began.

Because her baby boy had had a God watching over him, a different one to the being who was responsible for putting him in that situation in the first place.

He’d also had Fíli watching over him, which probably meant her little arrowling had had _two_ God’s watching over him.

Two Gods.

Because apparently, _somehow_ … Fíli was one too.

She still didn’t understand how that was possible; everything had happened so fast she’d not quite realised what she was seeing until it was too late – but the blood that had been rushing in her ears had also drowned out much of what had been said as well.

Unfortunately, much of her family had been the same; too gobsmacked by what was playing out in front of them to actually be paying much attention to anything important.

After the fight between Fíli and Mahal had ended – and that was a horrible memory she had yet to think about for fear of not entirely coping just yet – Thorin had grilled Gandalf and the Lady Galadriel for answers.

_What exactly just happened?_

_What had happened to Fíli?_

_What did this now mean for the heir-apparent? His nephew? Her son?_

_What did this mean for their kingdom?_

_What would happen to all those who were Marked?_

Questions that, quite frankly, all needed answers to put more than a few minds at ease.

The near catastrophic fit her brother had thrown when both immortals had merely shrugged and said they couldn’t yet discuss what had happened had resulted in Frerin and Dwalin dragging Thorin from the room in the interest of maintaining peace before her dunderhead of a brother could invoke the wrath of another powerful being.

That had all happened three days ago – and during that time Fíli had remained blissfully unconscious to everything and everyone around him.

It would have worried her, her first-born’s unusual stillness – but Galadriel had assured her the Fíli merely needed rest, because when he woke his body would ache something awful, having been used in a way it had never been before. The elf had healed where Mahal’s sword had bitten into his side deeply with a couple of herbs and her magic, and told them that getting as much of the pain out of the way with minimal movement now was a much needed blessing to keep the pain levels tolerable later.

Setting her tray down Dís placed her hands on her hips and looked from Fíli to Kíli and sighed.

The brunet’s gaze was distant, her son evidently lost in thought as he chewed his thumb absentmindedly. A habit that had been non-existent prior to three days ago, but an all too familiar one now.

“Kíli.”

Her son blinked, and before looking at her he looked down at his arm – the arm that had once Marked him for death now held nothing more than Fíli’s name in neat golden letters. He looked at it like he did every time he was pulled from his thoughts; as though he believed that its appearance was nothing more than a dream and was then taken by surprise every time he saw his brother’s name inked onto his skin.

His soulmate’s name.

That thought made her smile like it had every time she herself had thought of it. It was the only title that fit them – that was able to encompass what they meant to each other. Deep down she believed it had always been there, hiding just beneath the surface until it could come forward – and with Kíli’s curse gone it finally got the chance to stand where it always belonged.

And just as Fíli’s name was where it should’ve always been, so too was Kíli’s name on the odd patch of skin her lion cub had one day developed from a young age.

Both of her boys were now whole and complete.

If only Fíli would wake to prove that to her himself.

“Kíli,” she said again, and this time her son actually looked at her when his name was called. “I brought lunch. What do you want to start with? Sandwich or fruit?”

“’m not hungry, mama,” Kíli mumbled, turning his attention back to his brother and straightening the already taut sheets. “Thanks though.”

“Sucks to be you then Gimlith,” she replied, taking Kíli’s plate off the tray and bustling around the bed so she could press a kiss to both her boys’ brows before setting the food on her son’s lap. “Because you either eat this, or I get Dwalin and your uncles to hold you down while your father and I force feed you. Which would you prefer?”

Kíli muttered something under his breath irritably before swiping a sandwich off the plate and biting into it aggressively. When he opened his mouth to say something, Dís swatted him over the back of the head.

“No talking with your mouth full. You’re not a cave troll.”

Locking eyes with his mother Kíli chewed and swallowed forcefully before opening his mouth to show her it was empty.

“That was revolting to look at,” she said blandly, handing him a glass of water. “But thank you. Now, what were you going to say?”

“That you’ve offered the same threat the last three days to force me to eat,” the brunet grumbled before taking a mouthful of water. “It’s not as threatening the third time around.”

“And yet there’s clearly something in it that scares you into doing as you’re told, because you keep doing as you’re asked,” she replied cheerfully. “It’s called parenting, inùdoy. One day you’ll have the wonderfully heinous task of following in our footsteps, and you’ll be able to use your own threats when you deem it necessary.”

“At this rate it’s not something that will be happening anytime soon if Fee doesn’t wake up,” Kíli sighed, setting his glass down and massaging his temples. “Why won’t he wake, Amad?”

“He’ll wake when he’s good and ready.” Satisfied Kíli had eaten something she took up her usual chair beside the brunet’s, and took Fíli’s lax hand in her own. She was pleased to see the swelling had more or less disappeared; but that was largely thanks to whatever magic Gandalf and Galadriel wielded. Just the odd splotch of bruising remained.

“From what Galadriel and Tharkûn have said, what we saw in the arena was the first time he’s ever done that – his body needs time to recover from… whatever he did to it.”

“I guess.” Kíli glanced down at his soul mark and rubbed it gently, making Dís smile softly.

“It’s a better looking mark on you, that’s for sure. And on Fíli, too.”

“I wish he’d told me,” Kíli replied quietly, heaving a long sigh. “About the soul mark, the power, the… God… thing. All of it.”

Using her free hand, Dís swept a loose strand of hair off Kíli’s forehead before cupping the side of his head. “Your brother had a lot of secrets to keep, Gimlith. Some of them scarily big. If he didn’t tell you, or any of us, it would have been for a good reason. You know Fíli will do whatever’s in his power to keep those he loves safe. This is no different.”

“Well his ‘whatever’s in his power’ is a lot bigger than it used to be. Still, it’d be nice if he’d do a bit more than being unconscious.”

“Your brother needs his rest, master Kíli, but I think we can hurry his awakening along.”

Both Kíli and Dís looked over to the door that Gandalf had just walked through, and watched as Galadriel and the rest of their family piled into the healing room.

“No one let Oin know we’re all here,” Frerin said cheerfully to no one in particular. “He’ll have a conniption about ‘overcrowding the injured’ otherwi – oh hi, Oin. Didn’t know you’d be joining us.”

Dís grinned as the older dwarf smacked her brother over the head with his hearing trumpet as he walked past. “These chambers are under my responsibility,” the older dwarf grunted as he walked over to the bed. “Where else would I be?”

“ _Don’t_ answer that question, Frerin, or I’ll throw you out of the room myself,” Thorin replied, his voice laced with exhaustion. Her brother moved to the foot of the bed and folded his arms over his chest as he stared down at his unconscious nephew with an unreadable expression. “Waking the boy would be most appreciated, Gandalf. Thank you.”

Nodding at the permission he was given, Gandalf extended his hand to Galadriel and moved out of her way. “Milady, I do believe you’re the one best practised in this particular area.”

A small smile was Galadriel’s answer as she rounded the bed to where it was free and perched on the edge – taking Fíli’s free hand in one of hers and placing the other on his face.

Silence fell in the room, all save for the faint whispers that left her lips and the gathered dwarves watched intently – their anticipation growing so thick with every passing second that you could cut it with a knife.

“It’s time you woke now, mellon-nin. There are some dwarves here who are very eager to speak with you.”

“Did she just call him a melon?” Oin asked, looking at the others before peering at his ear trumpet in bewilderment. “Has she gone blind, or something? He’s clearly a dwarf.”

There were several snorts of laughter at the muttered exclamation, and Dís shook her head, exasperated. Clearly Oin had forgotten the numerous lessons he’d had in Sindarin when he was a bairn, to be asking that question.

“It’s elvish… for friend,” a weak voice rasped out, and all laughter turned to relieved sighs. “Ow.”

“I imagine ow is about right,” Dwalin muttered, slapping Fíli on the foot lightly, and Dís couldn’t help but tut at the bald dwarf for striking her already wounded son, no matter how light it was. “Yer gave us a good scare there, laddie.”

“Wha’ h’ppened?”

“You were nearly killed, is what,” Víali replied softy, squeezing his son’s foot. “Aged us about 20 years with the stunt you pulled.”

Fíli cracked his eyes open and peered at those gathered. “Oh,” he breathed, taking in their relieved, yet exhausted expressions. “Ow.”

“We gathered that from the first ‘ow’, Fee,” Frerin replied, patting his nephew’s leg consolingly. “Feel anything else? Chargrilled, perhaps?”

Fíli frowned for a moment, thinking, before realisation washed over him, and Dís was rather surprised by the faint blush that dusted her son’s cheeks. “’m unroasted, if -” Fíli cut himself off with a huge yawn, which made Dís’ next decision easy.

“Alright everyone, Fíli is clearly alive and functional, but my boy needs his rest. Out, all of you, and we can come talk to him tomorrow afternoon. Understood?”

“Th’nks amad,” her boy mumbled, his eyes falling shut of their own accord and snuggling into his pillow. He was out like a light moments later.

“Come, Kíli,” she said, tugging a lock of brunet hair gently. “That means you too.”

“But amad -”

“No ‘buts’. Fíli needs his sleep and will be kept awake by your aggressive pouting if you stay.”

Kíli frowned even harder at that as he stood and allowed himself to be led from the room. “I do not _aggressively pout_ ,” he muttered back, throwing one last look over his shoulder at his sleeping One before his father shut the door behind him. As much as he wanted to be there, he couldn’t argue that Fíli needed rest.

“You do,” his father chimed in. “Just like you aggressively think.”

“I don’t – how can anyone _aggressively think_ , adad? And how can you even tell?”

“Because your eyebrows do this aggressive furrowing thing, which indicates you’re aggressively thinking.”

Kíli couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped, despite wanting to be annoyed with them for pulling him into the hallway. He realised what his parents were doing for him; how they were showing him the worst was over and things would soon go back to normal.

Things were going to be alright after all.

* * *

The next day had come far too slowly for Kíli’s liking.

His mother had all but pounced on him when he’d left his room that morning, telling him that Oin had been with Fíli all night and had reported that the blond hadn’t moved an inch, nor had he so much as twitched that morning. He was still sleeping, and Oin had no intentions of letting anyone near the room until later in the day.

Which meant that he’d paced impatiently in Thorin’s study for a better part of the morning; chomping at the bit to go and see his brother and cursing annoying dwarves who refused to let the important people in to see him.

“For the love of Durin, Kíli!” Thorin’s exasperated outburst made him look over at his uncle in surprise. “Must you pace? Sit down and fletch an arrow or something.”

“I’ve been pacing all morning!”

“I only got here ten minutes ago!” Thorin retorted. “For the last few hours I’ve been busy explaining to the endless sea of dwarves that no, your brother isn’t available to speak with at present, and no, I will not be taking him messages.”

Kíli winced. “How bad is the fallout?”

Thorin rubbed his eyes tiredly, and Kíli couldn’t help but feel bad for adding to his Uncle’s stress. Because of that, he threw himself into an armchair that sat in front of the desk.

“Remarkably it’s not as bad as I expected. Mostly, people just want to know what happened; why your brother is the way he is and if what they _think_ happened is in fact true. Of course, it’s hard to give answers to something I can’t even explain.”

Kíli shrugged. He couldn’t argue with that when he felt the same.

“But apparently ‘I don’t know’ isn’t a good enough answer for some,” Thorin continued. His uncle looked like he badly needed a drink, so to put him out of his misery Kíli got up and went to cupboard that held a bottle of brandy and poured a drink for him. He paused, then shrugged and poured one for himself. He’d probably need it by the end of the day.

“I’m guessing the some you’re referring to are members of the council?”

“From Erebor and the Iron Hills, yes.” Thorin took his cup and downed it in one go. Kíli looked at his uncle for a moment before fetching the bottle and putting it in front of him.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Thorin asked, even as he poured himself another helping, downing it just as quickly as the first.

“Only as drunk as you want to be, Uncle,” he chuckled. “But based on what you’re telling me, it’s probably needed.

Thorin raised his cup to that before downing his third glass, but he corked the bottle and moved it to the side once he’d finished.

They were both quiet for a while, lost in their own heads as they thought about what had happened, and what was to come over the next few days.

“The vendors are going to want an explanation soon, too,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “They’ve suddenly lost a good source of income from all the travellers who came to the tournament.”

“I could care less about complaints of the vendors, and those of the council, quite frankly,” Thorin grumbled. He got up, and Kíli watched curiously as his uncle rounded the desk and perched on the edge in front of him. “I’m more concerned about the fighters who survived. I’m concerned about _you_. How are you holding up?”

“Do you know, that’s the first time someone’s asked me that?” he smiled, albeit weakly. “Honestly uncle, I don’t even think I’ve fully begun to process what happened, let alone come to terms with it. My whole life I’ve known I was going to die – that there was a cut off for everything I did. Now?” He shrugged helplessly. “I have my whole life ahead of me, and… I don’t know what to do, if I’m honest.”

He leaned into the hand that cupped the side of his face, and exhaled shakily when Thorin’s forehead pressed firmly into his own.

“You live, and you love,” Thorin murmured. “I won’t lie to you and say it’s going to be easy. You’ve experienced something that _no one_ in our history has had to deal with before; surviving the unsurvivable tournament. It’s understandable to be shaken. But you’ve been through what it means to know you’re going to die, and now you suddenly have a new lease on life. Enjoy it, little one – you’ve earned it.”

“Part of me doesn’t feel like I deserve it though.” It was the first time he’d said that out loud since the fight had ended, but it had been a constant thought in the back of his mind.

He didn’t deserve it. Not really. All those other dwarves who had died over the years; all those families that had been torn apart - they should all be here. Not just him, and yet – here he was.

From where he stood, it wasn’t fair.

“Kíli, look at me.”

He did, and he was surprised by just how much emotion and compassion was on his normally stoic uncle’s face. “Any time you feel like that, you come talk to me, you hear? I don’t want to lose you to dark thoughts when you deserve nothing less than to be happy and alive. No matter what I’m doing, or how stressed or annoyed at something I might be – if you need to talk I will _always_ listen, okay?”

Blinking back tears, Kíli nodded. He stood, and wrapped his arms around Thorin, hugging him tightly. It surprised him just how much he needed to hear that from someone, and had no doubt that he would need it in the months to come.

The tight, all-encompassing hug he received was one of the best things he’d received in a long time.

* * *

When they were finally allowed into the healing room, they were all met with a stern looking Oin who pressed a finger to his lips as soon as he swung the door open.

Peering over his mother’s shoulder, Kíli could see his brother was still fast asleep. As they got closer to the bed he was relieved to see that the colour had returned to Fíli’s cheeks, and that overall he was looking much better.

Gandalf and Galadriel had entered the room with them, intent on talking to their pupil - as Gandalf had called him - before they tied up a few loose ends and left the mountain. The elf withdrew a vial from her robes as Dís stroked her hand over her sleeping son’s face.

“Come now, Fíli. It’s time to wake up.”

The response was a long and drawn out groan, and Fíli screwed his eyes against the light that was attempting to break in. “ughbayonntbo.” 

“Geez Fee, one little fight with a god and you think you can just burble like that at people. What would your mother think?” 

“His mother would think he’s earned a break, Frerin. Leave my baby alone.” 

Kíli looked at his blond uncle in exasperation, and the dwarf just spread his hands innocently.

There was another groan, sounding very similar to Fíli’s ‘ball’s I’m in a sickbed with everyone crowded around again, why me?’ groan that Kíli couldn’t help but chuckle, but he quickly smothered it by clearing his throat.

Blue eyes cracked open, and proved to Fíli that he was the centre of attention once again.

He did not look happy about that fact.

* * *

The moment he realised he had an audience, Fíli prayed that he could just pass out again. Unfortunately, his body – having rested for what felt like an age – was now screaming for food and water, so even if he wanted to try sleep, his stomach wouldn’t let him.

Oh well. Time to face the music. The sooner it was done, the sooner he would hopefully be left alone.

“How long was I out,” he asked tiredly, covering his mouth as a yawn broke free. 

Or rather, he tried too – but the limb made a sad floppy movement beside him, which was when he realised he felt like he’d been squashed by the mountain. 

“The sore limbs will fade with time,” Gandalf chuckled as he glared at his arm when it refused to move further than an inch. “Although you will likely require some help over the next couple of days as you get your strength back – you certainly extended yourself further than we thought you would.” 

“It was very impressive,” Galadriel agreed with a small laugh. “All you needed was a little faith in yourself to see what you could do.” She showed him the vial and recognising it for the pain reliever it was he nodded, allowing her to pour a small amount into his mouth. It wouldn’t fix him, but it would take the edge off.

“That, and being locked in a prison cell,” he agreed, turning his head to give his uncles’ an unimpressed look. 

“Thorin made me do it,” Frerin replied, neatly stepping out of the way of his brother’s hand that aimed for his head. “Blame him, not me.”

Thorin glared at his brother before looking at him, embarrassed. “I am sorry, Gimleth – I was only doing what I thought was best for you at the time.” 

“It’s okay,” he replied sincerely. And it was. Thorin had made the best of an awful situation, and at the end of the day he was just looking out for him. Unfortunately, it had meant locking him up.

The thought of how he escaped made him grin slightly. “However you’ll need to replace the door, I may have caused some irreparable damage to it.” 

“Well that answers the question of how you got out.” Thorin sighed, rolling his eyes. Truth be told, he’d been so distracted by everything that had gone on he hadn’t bothered to go to the cells to see just how his nephew had escaped. Part of him didn’t even want to know what kind of damage Fíli had caused, not sure he was up to witnessing the physical evidence of what his nephew now was. Whatever that was. “I’m sure we’ll find a way to cover the cost of repairs.”

He snickered quietly before looking at his teachers. “What exactly happened?” he asked. “From what I saw, I lost that fight; so why am I still here? And, for that matter, why didn’t you stop my family from interfering like you said you would? The outcome might’ve been different if they hadn’t distracted me.”

As much as he’d like to blame the pair for his near death – something had evidently happened that meant he’d survived, and he was curious as to what it was. Because for all the scenarios they’d prepared for – that wasn’t one of them.

“Wait wait wait,” Frerin interrupted, drawing everyone’s attention. “I think you might need to recap the whole… I don’t know, last eighty years? Never mind what happened during the fight; what exactly is going on? How did we end up with Fee fighting a God for Durin’s sake? _Our_ God? I think we deserve to know that much, at least.”

There were some mumbles of agreement, and Fíli immediately felt guilty. Everything that had happened – minus his still being alive - had made sense to him; but he’d forgotten that his family had been in the dark the whole time. And his prolonged unconsciousness had evidently not brought them the answers they were after. He shared a look with the immortals; the trio’s knowledge of the each other so intimate they didn’t need words.

“You’re both the best people to tell them,” he muttered after several moments of silent communication. “I can barely think straight.” He couldn’t. His brain and body were both aching and he would prefer as few words as possible to use right now before he tired himself out further.

“Very well.”

Gandalf lit his pipe and shifted in his seat so he was facing the gathered dwarves. “For those of you who aren’t familiar with your history – as it’s written in you book, mind you - when Mahal forged the dwarves he made all of them equal. All except Durin, who was crafted in his image.

“When he forged Durin, he blessed the dwarf with as many gifts as he could – including adding several drops of his own blood, and a small vial of phoenix tears.”

“Phoenix tears?” Oin repeated, looking somewhat gobsmacked. “Phoenix tears are nigh on impossible to get, and no one has seen a phoenix in centuries.”

“Do none of you read your history?” Gandalf muttered irritably. “They are still around, but they are not known to venture into populated areas. Although I imagine to young Fíli they would make themselves known.” He took a deep drag of his pipe before releasing the smoke. “The phoenix tears, combined with Mahal’s blood were mixed together and added to Durin’s creation – when he was born, he too possessed the powers of his Maker.”

“If that’s the case, then all of Durin’s line should have possessed the same powers,” Thorin mused. “And yet only Fíli can do what he does.”

“Evidently, no one reads your history except for outsiders, and Fíli,” Gandalf sighed. “What did Mahal and Durin have that you, Thorin, do not?”

When no one answered, Fíli replied for them.

“They’re blond,” he murmured, blinking heavily. “’ _Only those in Mahal’s image will possess his power_.’”

As one, the gathered dwarves turned to Frerin; the dwarf himself frowning as he looked at his hands.

“So… you’re saying that I can do what Fee did?” When Gandalf chuckled, the older blond frowned harder. “What?”

“Fíli is only able to do what he can after decades of practice, my friend.” Galadriel replied for the wizard. “I fear with your age, you will be able to do little more than party tricks, if you can do anything at all.”

“Well that stinks,” Frerin muttered, crossing his arms. “Although it begs the question why you taught Fíli and not me. There’s dozens of fighters we could have saved if you’d picked me instead.”

Gandalf shrugged. “Perhaps we could have, but sadly Fate did not choose you. Frankly, if young master Kíli had not received his Mark, I do wonder if Fíli would ever have been chosen to be the one to go up against Mahal in the first place, or if it would have been generations more before someone was chosen to stand against him.”

“So Fíli possesses the powers of the Gods,” Víali repeated quietly, frowning in thought before looking at the wizard curiously. “What does that make him, exactly? Is he still a dwarf, or is he a God?”

“Technically he is both,” Galadriel said. “While he will live out the rest of his days amongst you, he will always have control of his abilities, and when he returns to the stone he will return there as a fully powered God.” She looked at Frerin and quirked her mouth sympathetically. “Despite having the power in your blood, it will not change anything for you when you return to the stone.”

Frerin rolled his eyes. “Well that’s my life ruined,” he said, completely deadpan. “No special treatment when I want to take a bath in the afterlife.”

Thorin and Dís thumped him over the head.

“As long as you’re well warned so none of us have to listen to you complaining,” Víali replied. “Death is supposed to be peaceful – which means not listening to your bellyaching non-stop.”

Balin stroked his beard thoughtfully. “We’ll need to discuss how we’re going to announce this to our people. They’re already asking questions, and we don’t want Fíli continuously getting accosted for answers in the hallways."

“Something that definitely needs to be discussed, for his safety as well as your kingdom’s security,” Galadriel conceded. “But it’s something that can be discussed later; now is really not the best time.”

Gandalf nodded. “Agreed.” He turned to Fíli, and placed a hand on the boys shoulder; infusing him with a slightly stronger energy boost when he noticed the blond had drifted off again. Once Fíli was blinking at him sleepily, he smiled warmly. “In answer to your original question for why we didn’t stop your family from interfering, you must forgive us, little one,” he continued. “The intention of keeping your family safe had been there, up until Mahal appeared and we finally understood.”

“When he did, we realised that there was more going on than we first believed,” Galadriel added. “It wasn’t just you on trial, it was Mahal as well.”

“The moment he appeared, we could sense that something wasn’t right with him, that something was wrong.” Gandalf steepled his fingers and looked at him intently. “We could not interfere any further, because if we did it could have spelt the end of the dwarven race for good.”

“It was the corruption of Melkor you sensed, Mithrandir.”

As one, everyone in the room turned to the fireplace – those who had weapons drawing them immediately. Fíli blinked at the two God’s who had appeared in his sick room. He couldn’t explain how, but he’d sensed them as they arrived; another skill he guessed came part and parcel with being a god, but it was still somewhat disconcerting, to say the least.

Fíli looked both God’s over carefully, and was surprised at what he saw. While Yavanna looked as beautiful as she had the first time they’d met, Mahal looked… exhausted. He’d even go so far as to say ill, which he could very well be.

“Melkor’s corruption ran deep – far deeper than even I could have suspected,” Yavanna continued, looking at her husband sympathetically. “It’s harder to sense when something’s wrong because we are all there, all the time. It was only once my husband came here, and was away from the power of the God’s that I could see just how bad Melkor’s influence was.”

“The corruption has been removed, I take it?” Gandalf asked, and Yavanna nodded solemnly.

“Melkor has betrayed us; his mind has been lost to the darkness he surrounds himself with for far too long. He fled when he realised he’d been discovered; but not before doing what he could to ruin us all.”

“It will take time to repair the damage he did,” Mahal rasped, looking at them all with tired eyes. “But even though he turned on us, he is our brother and we will do what we can to save him.”

“Because that’s what families do,” Fíli replied softly.

Mahal shuffled towards him, and despite the fact his family didn’t want the God near, they still moved out of the way.

The God perched on the side of the bed, and once again he found himself the subject of intense scrutiny. Squashing how tired he was, Fíli lifted his head and met the God’s gaze head on, but immediately he knew the scrutiny was different; this time he didn’t feel it was out of disgust. 

It felt like it was out of admiration. 

He was gifted with a small, chagrined smile, before Mahal placed a hand on his shoulder. “You fought well little one,” the god smiled tiredly, and he couldn’t help but smile in return. “It’s clear to me you’re my true heir; and I am glad to call you so. You’ve taught me a lesson, one I will not forget easily; and for that I’m grateful. Melkor’s treachery clouded my judgement; made me become so obsessed with power that I lost myself somewhere along the way and I punished those who did not deserve it. I’m sorry.” 

“Knowing what I do now, and as much as I want to blame you I’m finding it hard to do so,” he replied, smiling consolingly. “There is much to atone for, but I know, given time it is something that you will get, and I will be more than happy to assist if and when you need it. But first things first, I think your people have suffered long enough, don’t you?”

The god huffed a laugh and ran a finger over Fíli’s arm, making the blond turn his head to see what had caught his attention. He frowned at the sight of letters, but as it was upside down to him and a bit far for his tired eyes to process correctly, he couldn’t tell what it was. Once his mind wasn’t so clouded with sleep he was sure he’d work it out, or remember. One of the two.

“As you can see, little one; the marks are already gone. Now, I think it’s time I return home and start working to heal your lands and rivers once more.” 

“Thank you.” 

Mahal leaned in and pressed their foreheads together before withdrawing, and this time his smile was a genuine one. “No Fíli, thank _you_.” 

With that, the God disappeared leaving everyone except for him baffled, but impressed.

Once her husband disappeared, Yavanna stepped up to his bed and knelt beside it, smiling down at him fondly.

“Thank you for helping me get him back,” she whispered. “You helped more than I think you’ll ever realise.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” he replied. “I spent the better part of the fight unable to tell just what in Durin’s name was happening.”

“You fought with love, and honour. Something Mahal has sorely lacked for many years. Now that we know why, I have no doubt he’ll be back to normal soon.”

Yavanna leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Until we meet again, gwinig.”

“Durin’s balls,” he muttered, rolling his eyes at the thought. “Unless it’s for my wedding please make sure you at least give me fair warning before you’re going to pop by; I’d like for my life to go somewhat back to normal for a wee while, if it’s all the same to you.”

A tinkling laugh was the only response he got as Yavanna too took her leave.

The room fell silent a moment, before Frerin sniffed loudly. “Well that was interesting.”

“Indeed,” Thorin muttered. “If they become regulars for dinner, Fíli, you and I will be having words. I don’t fancy being asked to pass the gravy by the God who tried to kill _both_ my nephews for quite some time.

Nephews. _Kíli._

Fíli’s eyes found his brother, who had remained silent since he’d woken. As much as he knew his family wanted to discuss what had happened further, he was desperate to talk to the brunet. “I know you all want to hear more about what happened,” he said, thinking quickly. “But would you mind giving Kíli and me a moment? I think there’s a couple of things we need to discuss.” 

“We shall be back later,” Gandalf told him. “There’s a few things the three of us need to discuss before the Lady and I take our leave of the mountain.

He nodded, before looking at his family pointedly. There was some grumbling, but they left the room as requested – his mother and father first pressing a kiss to his forehead before following the others from the room. 

Once the door shut behind them, he looked at Kíli questioningly; raising an eyebrow when the brunet didn’t move from his spot by the door. 

“Well are you going to come here, or are you doing your best to become one with the ornaments in the room?” 

“You never told me.” 

The only movement Kíli made was to fold his arms, and his brother’s stubbornness made him roll his eyes. 

“I never told anyone, Kee.” 

“You told the wizard,” Kíli countered. “And the elf.” 

“Technically, they told me. If it wasn’t for Gandalf and Galadriel I would never have known that I stood a chance at doing this. I would never have stood the chance to try and save you.” 

“So they told you, and you never told me.” 

He sighed, looking to the ceiling for patience and guidance. “Kíli… until today I’ve never been able to do anything like that. The most I’ve ever been able to do is _this_ ,” and with that, a group of candles beside Kíli sprung to life. The brunet jumped, and he winced as pain shot through his skull. “Ow.” 

Suddenly, Kíli was there – his hands flapping in a panic when he realised he was hurting. 

“Calm down Kee,” he grunted, breathing through the lingering pain. He felt slightly nauseous now. Great. 

“Gandalf said you’ve exhausted yourself,” Kíli huffed, handing him a cup of water. When he looked at it, then at the brunet in exasperation said brunet blushed and held the cup to his mouth so he could take a quick swallow. “You shouldn’t be doing any magic stuff for ages.” 

“I was trying to prove my point,” he replied tiredly. “Up until several days ago, that was all I could do – I wasn’t lying when I said that. But do you know what forced me to accept my powers? What showed me what I could do?” 

When Kíli shook his head, taking a seat on the bed Fíli put extreme effort into forcing his hand to inch as close as possible to his brother. He didn’t get far, but as far as he was concerned it was the thought that counted. “It was the thought of losing you, and what that would do to me that made me realise the true extent of my powers. You’re my One Kee – I couldn’t lose you, not when I had a chance to stop it.” 

Kíli smiled at him shyly. “Your One, huh?” 

“Well that’s what our marks say, is it not?” 

He’d worked it out, the sharp spike of pain clearing away the remainder of his confusion. He had a mark, but it was of the best kind.

There was a huffed laugh, and Kíli reached out to trace his own name where it sat proudly on his forearm. Fíli shivered at the touch, but revelled in it. “You do realise that you’re going to have a lot of explaining to do once you’re better, don’t you?” Kíli murmured. “Me being your One. You being a God.” The brunet shook his head, looking as though he still didn’t quite believe it. 

To be fair, neither did he. 

“They’ll want answers.” 

“Things will change now that our people know I can do this,” he agreed. “I’ve kinda known that since the start – but do you know what? I don’t care.” Another fight, this time to twist the arm that Kíli was holding so that their hands slid together. He failed – again – but Kíli got the message and linked their fingers, squeezing gently. 

“I can face anything when I have you by my side.” 

And he could. They were both battered, and a little bit broken – not to mention traumatised in their own ways. But now they had time to heal and grow, and relearn one another as the newly forged dwarves they were. 

They would face challenges and hurdles along the way, but they would succeed each time. 

Because they would always be together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gwinig - little one  
> Ghivashith – treasure that is young  
> Gimlith – star that is young  
> inùdoy - son


End file.
